


Don't Let Go

by hollyblue2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accidents, Descriptions of Injury, EMT!Castiel, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Recovery, Trying to fall in love, alcoholic!Dean, mechanic!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 03:31:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15209954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyblue2/pseuds/hollyblue2
Summary: Dean Winchester’s life is a mess. Ever since his father’s death, a downward spiral has seen his occasional beer become something of a crutch. Then, a revelation has him going to see his brother in California—except he doesn’t make it and ends up in a nasty accident, destroying the Impala.Air rescue paramedic, Castiel, and his partner Benny are the ones to pull him out of the wreck and that’s just the start of it. He forms a tentative friendship with Dean and manages to convince him he needs help and that he can be there for Dean.It should have been all uphill from there—because getting sober is easy, right?—except it isn’t and their relationship is thrown into turmoil at the wrong time. Slowly, they learn to accept each other once again.





	Don't Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> This has been so long in the making, that I'm kinda sad that it's done, but also happy that I get to post it at the same time!!
> 
> Thank you to Nat ([@galaxystiel](http://galaxystiel.tumblr.com)) for being my amazing artist and also my beta :D and to Cara ([@sternchencas](http://sternchencas.tumblr.com)) for Alpha reading it. Also to Sarah ([@profound-boning](http://profound-boning.tumblr.com)) for being my Denver dude and Rose ([@nougatnephilim](http://nougatnephilim.tumblr.com)) for being a fabulous cheerleader and friend ♥

 

 

 

 

 

A horn blaring, glass shattering then everything coming to a sudden halt is the last thing Dean remembers as he returns to consciousness.

Everything hurts. His head throbs and stings, his chest is barely letting him breathe and there’s a pain in his back and legs that is more than worrying. He remains calm. Taking purposeful breaths around the ache in his chest. His eyes won’t open yet but he can see light behind them. He feels cold and wet and hot all at the same time, he can’t help but wonder if the wetness is his own blood.

He doesn’t know how long has passed since he skidded off the road and hit what he assumes to be one of the trees lining the quiet back road. Quiet, except for the swerving driver coming the other way. Or maybe he was the one swerving...

Slowly, he flexes his fingers and winces at the searing pain. His breath hitches in his throat but he wills himself to keep breathing. His phone is on the bench seat, and he tries to grab it, but it’s mere inches from fingertips so he reaches, growling out in agony as his damaged muscles and bones shift. Finally his bloody fingers pull his phone towards him and he half-blindly set it on his thigh and takes several breaths to keep the impending dizziness away. His head is already beginning to swim like he’s had far too many beers and it makes is stomach roil on top of everything else.

Flipping open his phone, he feels for the buttons before dialling for an ambulance. It doesn’t occur to him how he’s going to answer when they pick up.

“ _911, what’s your emergency?_ ” the lady on the other side of the phone is distant but he knows he has to talk or they might not find him for hours.

He gurgles before any words even form and his throat burns with bile. “Help...” He manages. He can only hope it enough for now.

“ _Hello? Are you there, what’s your emergency?”_

“Help.... crash... hurt badly.” He paraphrases. He’s not up to whole sentences yet, not without passing out.

“ _You’ve been in a crash? You’re hurt?_ ” She clarifies. He’s just thankful he’s heard him.

“Yeah...”

“ _Can you tell me where you are?_ ”

He thought for a moment, but there was nothing but a blank space in his mind.

“No... I... don’t...” his breaths were coming short and fast aggravating whatever chest injury he had.

“Sir, I need you to calm down, okay. We can track you down no problem. Just keep breathing, a rescue team is on their way. Can you tell me what hurts?”

He was about to answer when the need to cough became too strong and horrendous wracking coughs hit him full force. Blood trickles down his chin and a whimper escapes his sore throat. A wave of exhaustion hits him and it’s suddenly too much effort to stay awake. Even with his eyes glued shut with drying blood he can feel himself drifting off into unconsciousness. It’s not a pleasant feeling but he lets it happen anyway; someone’s coming to help.

The next time he regains consciousness, there’s someone touching him. Pain escalates and a strangled whimper comes from his mouth.

“Hey, you’re okay. We’re getting you out. Try keepin’ still.” The Louisianan voice sounds hazy like they’re talking behind glass and he refrains from nodding. “Can you talk? Can you tell me your name?”

As he opens his mouth, blood comes out first but he manages to speak his name. “Dean... Dean Winchester.”

“Okay, Dean. I need to ask you some questions. Can you feel your legs?”

“Yeah,” He answers and does his best to answer the rest of his questions.

Someone else is touching him too, putting a cuff around his arm and manually checking him over for the injuries he tells the southern guy about.

“Alright, Dean. You’re hurt pretty badly but you’re conscious now, okay? Can you open your eyes?”

There’s a hand on his arm, gloved and gentle, he wants to see, wants to know where he is and how bad he is.

“It stings.” Dean tells them, trying to reach for his eyes. “Can’t see... I can’t... I can’t see!”

“Okay, alright. You’ve got a lot of blood from a head wound, we'll be gentle and get something to wash it off and then we’ll get you out of here. The helicopter is trying to land so we can fly you out of here.”

 _Helicopter. Fly!_ No, that’s not okay with Dean. He’s fine, to Hell with a hospital, he’s sure he can work his way through the pain enough to walk home. If he puts his mind to it, it’s only a couple of miles or so back to his house.

“No!” Dean’s getting agitated. “I’m fine. Don’t take me! I can walk!”

“Dean! You need to go to a hospital – you have a head injury; we don’t know what your neck’s like and your chest and breathing is diminished. You cannot walk. You need to be in a hospital as soon as possible.” There’s another man talking, the southern one seems to have gone.

“No...” Dean starts coughing again, bringing up more blood. He can taste it bitter and metallic on his tongue and lips. He can’t tell if he’s bitten his tongue or its coming from inside. Either way, he’s sure it’ll be fine and he’ll just walk it off.

“Can I have some oxygen over here?” the man calls and it isn’t long before a mask is being pressed over his face and cool oxygen is filtering through him.

“Okay, let’s see if I can’t clean you up a bit, huh?” the southern sounding guy says.

“Please don’t take me. I’m fine. I’m...” several bouts of coughing which is definitely not fine. “fine...”

A cool soaked gauze is pressed over his eyelids and they feel lighter and he can finally open his eyes when the man is finished.

“There we go. Okay, Dean. I want you to keep as still as you can. They’re gonna cut you out of your car okay.” Dean groans. If this day couldn’t get any worse! He’ll have to make sure they take her somewhere he can get her back and fix her up as soon as he can.

“Don’t hurt her...” Dean’s voice is muffled behind the mask but the dark-haired man’s eyes narrow with confusion. “My car... don’t hurt my car. I want her back. I’ll fix her up... I’ll...” Dean gives up talking when the air rescue guy soothes a hand down his arm.

“Okay, okay.” Dean wants to turn his head to the guy but there’s something hard and stiff around his neck so he can’t move. “Stay still, we put a collar on you to stabilise your neck. They’re gonna get you out.” The hand is still soothing him even as he can see the fireman grab the jaws of life and crushes through the frame of the Impala.

The fireman calls that they’re sorted and the entire roof of the car has gone.

“Remember what we said, Dean. Nice and still while we get you on a backboard.”

Dean holds back another whimper and just closes his eyes, he’s aware that getting him out of the car is gonna hurt a lot and he’s not convinced he’s prepared for it.

A hand taps Dean’s arm. “Dean, nice deep breaths, I want you to try and stay awake for me, let me know if anything hurts.”

“Mmm...” Dean mumbles, keeping his eyes shut and focusing on the hand on his arms and the rise and fall of his own chest.

“Okay, Benny—pull him forward gently so I can slide the board behind him. Dean... that's it - deep breaths for me.”

Dean’s whole body shifts forward and it hurts. A lot. He yells out, but they don’t stop moving him. Going through a wood chipper would probably hurt less. Something solid slides behind him and straps go across his body, arms pinned to his side and head supported. Then he’s being lifted but it hurts less now that he's not moving.

“Okay, Dean. You’re out now. You’re safe. The helicopter can’t land so I’m gonna winch you up.” Cas explains. Dean tenses on the backboard but secured in, he can’t go anywhere. The pain is fuzzing his brain and panic makes his breathing quicken. “Dean. There’s nothing wrong with flying. Just breathe in for me... that’s it...” Dean forces his eyes open and he can see the dark hair paramedic above him breathing in with purposeful over exaggeration. He follows his motions and his voice and feels a hand soothing his shoulder. Panic lessening, Dean refocuses on what Cas saying. “I’ll talk you through everything that’s about to happen. The winch will come down then I’ll strap us both in. The ropes can hold a bus so they can hold us. Once we’re up, we’ll get you in the chopper and to the hospital. You ready, Dean?”

Dean would shake his head but it doesn’t look like he’s got much choice. He’s going to the hospital via helicopter whether he likes it or not.

“Alright,” Castiel says with one final pat on his shoulder. Dean watches him signal for the helicopter and talk into the radio. The man clips himself on and then onto the stretcher. “Going up!” Cas yells over the sound of the helicopter blades beating the air. There’s a hand on his arm, soothing him and it’s doing a surprisingly good job. He could almost fall asleep if he forgets he’s suspended in the air. He’s warm within the confines of the stretcher and blankets that have been laid over him.

There’s a thud and a sliding sound as Dean’s stretcher is loaded into the helicopter. His vitals are taken once again and once satisfied the door is slammed shut and the helicopter lurches forward towards the hospital.

Dean tries to talk, but the mask over his face is stifling and the ear defenders are blocking any sound. He waves his hand around as best he can and finally grabs hold of Cas’ pant leg and holds on for his own sanity.

“Hey, you’re okay, Dean, we’re nearly there and soon you’ll be back on solid ground.” The words are muffled but he understands what was said. Cas’ hand joins his own and he holds it tight.

“Don’t let go.” Dean instructs. Cas doesn’t let go until Dean drifts off into unconsciousness.

Lights flash overhead as he’s carted down the hallway of the hospital. There doesn't seem to be any pain and everything is slightly out of focus and not quite right. Looking around he sees Cas and the other paramedic. They’re rattling off his list of injuries and Dean can’t comprehend half of what they’re saying. _Severe chest injuries, potential spinal damage_. Whatever it is, it doesn’t sound good.

“Welcome back, Dean. This is Doctor Bradbury, she’s gonna take good care of care of you, alright,” another set of doors swung open before them and they entered a bustling emergency room. “We gotta leave you here, but you’re in good hands.”

Castiel and the other paramedic drift from his view and a smiling red-haired woman replaces them. He eyes her suspiciously before returning to unconsciousness.

“Hey, Benny?”

“Yeah, chief,” Benny answers swing round to see Cas just standing there outside the elevator doors.

“Do you mind if I stay here?”

“End of shift, you do what you like... but...” Benny pauses and raises his brow. He knows Cas. He knows what he’s doing, he’s getting attached to his cases as he often does whenever someone shows any gratitude to him saving them. It’s usually not a problem, he just makes sure they make it out the other side and into recovery, but sometimes it escalates. “But, you really think it’s a good idea? It’s been a long shift, you should go home.”

“I just want to make sure he’s okay. That’s it.” Castiel assures. Benny doesn’t argue, there’s not much point as Castiel is as stubborn as a wooden post.

“Alright, chief. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Castiel watches as Benny heads for the helicopter. As soon as the automatic doors close, he returns to the emergency room.

Scanning the beds and the more private rooms off the main area he doesn’t see any sign of Dean which he finds strange.

“The surgeons already came down after we did he initial assessment and took him up to the OR.” Charlie  explains.

“But he’ll be okay?” Cas wonders.

“I hope so. It’s gonna be a long recovery with the injuries he’s got, but he should be okay.”

“That’s good. Mind if I sit and wait for him to get out of surgery?” Castiel asks. Charlie’s shoulders relax and she pulls him into a hug.

“I think it’ll be best you go home, I’ll let him know you were here though.”

Charlie’s always been good with Cas. She knows how he thinks and always seems concerned for him. He nods and heads towards the exit doors but makes a quick redirection when he knows Charlie isn’t looking. He sits down on a row of chairs in a somewhat seemingly abandoned hallway and waits.

Dean’s hoping this is the last time he regains consciousness. He’s not in any pain though and he gingerly looks around the room but finds he can’t move that much. Below his hand he can feel a hard, solid object and he fingers it slowly until he finds a button. He presses it several times in hope it’ll call someone to his room to explain what’s going on. He barely remembers anything. He knows he’s been in an accident – that memory is shockingly clear as day – and he knows he’s in hospital but apart from that everything is a strange foggy blur.

“Hello, Dean,”

“Hey...” Dean replied but it ends up as more of a grunt that an actual word.

“That’s okay, you don’t need to talk. You’re gonna be sore for a while okay. You’ve got several broken ribs and you ruptured your spleen. You’ve got a fractured leg and we’re suspecting some form of whiplash, hence the neck brace.”

Dean mostly follows, but realises that without a doubt it’s going to be a long and painful few weeks.

“Dean? Dean?” Dr. Bradbury is calling him. He hadn’t even realised he’d lost focus. He looks over to her and sees the mild concern on her face. “The cut on your head was largely superficial but there was a fair amount of blood coming from it - as is usual with head wounds - but I’ll keep an eye on you for concussion. We’ve called your brother as he was listed as your next of kin.”

Dean tries to nod a thanks but remembers the collar around his neck and stops but not before a jolt of pain that overrides the pain medication shoots through his system. He scrunches his eyes shut and Dr. Bradbury is there with comforting words.

Once the majority of pain has passed, he’s only left with a dull throb. Dean feels like he can try to talk again, something akin to dread filling his stomach. “Sam.” He whispers. “He’s gonna hate me.”

Doctor Bradbury doesn’t seem to have heard him and she turns to leave, pausing by the door. “Oh, by the way: the air rescue guy stuck around for a while. He wanted to make sure you were okay. I sent him home but he wanted to see you.”

Dean thinks for a moment not really sure who she meant. His face must show his confusion, as the doctor reminds him of blue eyes and dark hair and it’s then that Dean remembers. His cheeks heat because from what he can recall, he was good looking, even when he was in more pain than he could ever imagine. But then he remembers how he’d freaked out about flying in front of him and embarrassed himself no doubt. He isn’t a whiney princess.

“Just tell him I’m okay.” He says sheepishly. “I _am_ okay, right?” Dean asks.

“You’ve got a long road to recovery, but you’ve got nothing to do now except get better.”

“I’ll try.” Dean tells her and relaxes back into the bed. Dr. Bradbury leaves and he falls into a fitful sleep.

“Dean? Dean!” Someone’s calling his name but everything is foggy and everything required effort. He feels hot – too hot – and it’s uncomfortable.  He tries to bat away the sheets covering him but hands hold him still and an ice-cold cloth startles him and makes him shiver.

Voices are murmuring around him but there’s too much commotion for him to focus on one voice.

“Sam?” Dean calls out.

“Sam’s on his way Dean. Are you with us?” a hand taps his shoulder lightly and Dean opens his eyes. The lights are too bright and a hot flash courses through his body.

“No. Too hot. Too bright.”

“Can we turn the lights down? And I need some Tylenol.” There’s more commotion and then before he knows it, Dean’s fallen into unconsciousness again.

The next time he wakes up, his entire body feels tense and his head is muggy. As soon as he opens his eyes an unwelcome light shines into them and he shuts them again. The process only serves to makes his head hurt worse.

He feels trapped inside his own head, in more pain than he’d been in before and he can’t seem to make his limbs work to tell anybody.

“Hey, come on, open your eyes for me.” The voice seems detached from the person it’s coming from like slow motion, but he opens his eyes fully, blinking into the light of the room. “That’s it. Can you tell me your name?”

Dean furrows his brow. His tongue feels thick in his mouth but he attempts to speak anyway. “Um... Dee... Dean...” He rasps.

“That’s right, you know the date too?”

“Wednesday? It’s April, right?”

“Yes, it’s April. It’s Saturday afternoon, Dean. You’ve been unconscious for a while. Your fever triggered several seizures until we could get it down. You seem okay at the moment though; no cognitive issues and you’re talking. We’ll check on you again in about an hour – I know you’re tired, but try and stay awake for me, okay?” Dr. Bradbury says.

“Sam?”

“Got here a few days ago. He’s at a motel down the road. He'll be back when visiting hours begin in a few hours.”

Dean hums and his eyes start to drift.

“Stay awake, Dean.” Dr. Bradbury reminds him.

Castiel decided to drop in on the hospital after a shift with air rescue. He spoke to Charlie and asked about Dean, when she give him a funny look his stomach turns.

“He’s not...”

“No, he’s fine, just took a bad turn somewhere. He woke up this morning after his third seizure in as many days.”

“Oh...” Castiel replies numbly. “Can I see him?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He didn’t want to see you the other day. I doubt he’s changed his mind. Cas… I know you have this habit of getting attached to your patients, but you need to let this one go. I love you, Cas. I can’t watch you get hurt again.” Charlie says to him. She stands up and drags him into a hug. Charlie’s words strike Castiel like lightning strikes a tree – precision and an explosion.

“Yeah. I’ll go. I’m sorry, Charlie.” Castiel is completely downcast and wanders out of the room without another glance, hands wringing together with frustration.

When Dr. Bradbury drops by Dean’s room an hour later, he’s more alert and his head is a little less muggy. It’s refreshing.

“Hey,”

“Dean, it’s good to see you more alert. You gave us a bit of a scare there – thought we said no funny turns, huh?” She says, scanning through his chart to make sure he’s up to date with all his medications. “I’ve got a couple of questions for you, okay?”

“Shoot.” Dean replies.

“How often do you drink alcohol?” She asks, blunt and to the point and if Dean were standing it would have knocked him off his feet.

“I was sober when I was driving. I promise.”

“That wasn’t the question. How often do you drink?”

Dean stuttered for a moment. He was sober, he had been for the past week. A hell of a week of withdrawal. Suddenly, he felt stupid agreeing to seeing Sam. He figured Sam would kick him up the ass a little and get him sober again except on the way he’d crashed his car. “I’ve been sober all week. Thought I could get to my brother’s house and get some help.” He feels pathetic – he’s never asked for help for the past two years but a punch in the face from his best friend and the silent treatment from another had his drink addled brain reconsidering. He hadn’t even spoken to his brother since their dad died. Who does that?

“Help with what, Dean?”

“You sound like some shrink.” Dean grumbles.

“I did several rounds in psychiatry before I decided on being a doctor, so... as I was asking, what did you need help with?” The doctor looks furrowed and the expression doesn’t suit her much. Dean wishes they would stop asking questions now and leave him alone.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve had a shit week, don’t wanna make it worse ‘cause of you.”

“Well, I’m _flattered_. Tell me what you wanted help with.” She pushes. No, Dean doesn’t want to and he knows she’s pushing his buttons and it’s working but Dean keeps his mouth shut anyway, shutting his eyes. He wants the kind red-headed doctor back, not this snarky bitch. “Dean, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what the problem is.”

“I... I’ve been sober all week... or all last week, okay!” Dean yells. It’s futile as Dr. Bradbury doesn’t even flinch.

“You’ve told me that already. I believe you. Tell me what you wanted help with.”

“Makes me feel sick. Makes my hands shake and and…” Dean takes a shuddering breath. All he’d been dealing with the past week before the accident is plain viewing in his head. “He didn’t know. Sam didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t even tell him I was coming okay.”

“Okay.” Dr. Bradbury says simply.

“Okay? Okay! I'm an alcoholic that quit cold turkey and all you can say is okay?"

“Thank you, Dean. The seizures you had were most likely from the withdrawal from alcohol and then we gave you anaesthesia during surgery and the two don’t mix well. Now you’ve given us some more information we can help you, Dean.”

Dean just nods, wrapping his fingers into the sheet covering him until they hurt. A gentle hand rests on his arm and he releases the sheets.

“It’s okay, Dean.”

“It’s not. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.”

“At least you know it.” Dr. Bradbury says. Dean makes a non-committal sound and relaxes back into the pillows. The brace around his neck is restricting but he makes do. “Visiting hours start soon. You want me to send your brother your way?”

Honestly, Dean doesn’t even know anymore. His chest tightens at the thought of Sam seeing him like this: going through withdrawal and bashed up from the accident. He shakes his head.

“You sure?”

Dean shakes his head again. Everything is overwhelming and he can’t stand not knowing and not having a clear decision in mind. He wants to see his brother but doesn’t want his brother to see him like this. He doesn’t want to speak to the guy who got him out of the car despite him wanting to and he certainly no longer wants to talk to Dr. Bradbury. He wants to be left alone in peace and quiet, but doesn’t want the thoughts of craving alcohol – or the reason why he craves alcohol – to crop back up.

“I don’t know. I don’t know okay. I just... leave me alone. I don’t know anything anymore.” Dean grits and Dr. Bradbury raises her brow. It’s probably unwise to leave Dean alone but also, it’s probably the best thing for him right now.

Castiel knows that Charlie is right, but he still wants to see how Dean is doing for himself, even if it’s a glance through the door as he walks past. If he could just see that Dean was getting on okay, he’ll be able to move on and forget about him. Except, before Castiel got chance to walk away, he overheard part of Charlie’s conversation with Dean. Guilt twists ugly inside him, he knows it’s wrong but it strengthens his need to see him. He's dealt with people being frightened before - has seen worse and fatal injuries too - but never before has some clung to him so tightly and asked him to keep hold of them.

With his heart split in two directions, Castiel looks towards Deans door and he walks the other way, popping coins into the nearest vending machine to distract himself. Punching in a random number, his mystery food turns out to be the only chocolate bar he doesn’t like. He huffs and stuffs it in his pocket.

He notices a man, taller than Dean, with long hair hovers in the hallway for a long moment before heading through the door. Castiel's heart draws him in the opposite direction and he Castiel lingers for a moment before walking past Dean's room slowly.

As he nears the open door, he can hear them talking. Concern is lacing the words of the man that just entered the room and Dean is naturally rebutting everything he’s saying, telling him he’s fine.

Castiel scoffs, because Dean's condition after the wreck was anything but fine.

“The doctor said you were going through alcohol withdrawal, Dean. That’s not fine. That’s not something you should have done alone. You watched Dad go through it. You should’ve known you needed someone else.”

“Sam...  stop. Please. I know, alright. I’m an idiot. I’m well aware of that fact.” Dean’s voice is still a little worn from days of being unwell and hurt and it makes Cas’ chest ache just hearing it and remembering his pleading voice when he was still tangled up in the wreckage.

“Don’t think like that, Dean. You’re not... you made a bad choice, you’re not an idiot.”

Castiel hangs his head with a sigh, if he’s caught eavesdropping, he’ll be thoroughly reprimanded. Castiel glances in the room as he passes. Dean’s sat up against several pillows, pale and drawn and tired. Bruises turning a medley of yellows and greens and his neck still in a precautionary brace. Castiel can tell it’ll take him a fair while to get better again.

A buzz in his pocket and Castiel pulls out his pager. There’s an emergency so he heads up to the helipad where Benny is waiting.

Dean catches the sight of someone walking past as he tries to gather his brother’s words. Sam just doesn’t seem to get it. The little brother isn’t supposed to look after the big brother. Dean’s always looked after Sam, never the other way around. He’s capable of coping on his own – even after Sam left for Stanford. Okay, so maybe he started drinking more, a lot more, after Sam left but he had no one to talk to, a job that he wasn’t even sure he enjoyed and barely any friends. Sam had always been there, always been some kind of presence in his life to talk to, even if it was just about nothing in particular.

“Sam...” Dean starts. “I asked for help. Well, that doctor kinda forced it outta me but yeah. I don’t know what’s going to happen but she seems pretty adamant that I can get through it, but not alone.”

“I could have told you that.”

“It’s why I was coming to see you.” Dean admits. “I couldn’t... my hands were shaking, I was seein’ things that weren’t there, it was getting hard. I wasn’t coping, I know that now. Me coming to see you, I should’ve called.” Dean kept his focus on the twist of the sheets covering him watching as his fingers entwined in the fabric. He could feel them tremor, and he couldn’t stop it and it was beyond frustrating.

“Dean,” a hand on his own, warm and all Sam. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“I know that.” There’s tears on his cheeks but Dean doesn’t want to wipe them away because that means acknowledging them and he’s _not_ crying.

“Good. You should sleep. Dr. Bradbury said lots of rest and fluids will help for the next few weeks as you recover.” Sam said finally, standing up. “I’m gonna grab some food and coffee.”

Dean’s left alone with his thoughts once again and he sighs. His chest still aches buts they must have him on some wicked pain medication for it not to feel as bad as it had done before. He looks to the back of his hand where the cannula is poking out, ugly and uncomfortable. For a moment he’s convinced he can feel the contents of the IV sliding into his hand and up his arm but he chalks it up to creepy hallucinations which is just part of withdrawing from alcohol it seems.

“Hello?”

Dean doesn’t look up when he hears the voice, he’s already hallucinating a little, and considering the horrific faces he’d seen before, looking up doesn’t seem like a good idea. Ignore it and it’ll go away.

“Dean?” This time, Dean looks up and is met with blue eyes and a soft but slightly concerned expression. Dean knows he recognises him but he doesn’t know where from. It’s infuriating.

“Um...” Dean winces apologetically. “Sorry, I don’t know who you are. I think I’ve seen you before, though,”

The man’s eyes blink slowly and Dean feels a tingle down his spine but it only ends up making him ache all over. “I was the air rescue paramedic who got you out the car, forgive me for intruding.”

And Dean remembers him. Those blue eyes, the gentle and rumbly voice, the soothing hand on his arm and he remembers clutching on to him while flying until he lost consciousness.

“I remember you. You told me there was nothing wrong with flying.” Dean glares at the man half-heartedly. “There’s a whole lot wrong with flying in those metal death tubes.”

The man crosses his arms, mock offended. “My helicopter is _not_ an airplane, thank you very much.”

Dean hides his smirk. “It’s... it’s Cas, right?” Dean asks.

“Yes, Castiel – most call me Cas though,” he replies. “How are you feeling? You’re looking a bit better, minus the bruises and the lacerations.”

“Gee thanks,” Dean grumbles, turning his hands in his sheets again. He suddenly feels self-conscious, and tugs the sheet further up his chest.

“I didn’t mean... sorry. I’m not making a good impression, am I?”

“Better than most,” Dean admits, because he’s definitely been on the receiving end of some strange flirtations before (if that’s even what the guy is attempting). Dean’s stomach rumbles which is surprising because he doesn’t feel hungry, he just feels achy and still raw from the crying.

“I have a chocolate bar,” Cas announces. He pulls it out from his pocket and tosses it the short distance. He watches as Dean does his best to catch it but his hand-eye coordination is off and it  hits his arm instead. “Should have guessed you wouldn’t be able to catch it,” Castiel chuckles nervously.

“I’m just not working all that good at the moment; I’ve normally got the hand-eye coordination of a cat but not today. Thanks,” Dean struggles for a moment with the wrapper with the IV in his hand but he manages it and takes a bite. The chocolate melts in his mouth instantly, sweet and gooey and absolute heaven. Dean hums around it and his cheeks flush slightly. He swallows with an awkward gulp. Castiel has a smile on his face though. “Sorry, I feel like I haven’t eaten in a week.”

“You haven’t, well, at least a few days.” Castiel’s eyes flick to the IV in his hand. “You’ve been getting all your fluids and stuff through that.”

“...and stuff, that sounds real technical, doc.” Dean smirks.

“I’m a paramedic, not a doctor,” Castiel clarifies. It had never occurred to Dean, really, that a paramedic doesn’t always know the ins and outs of hospitals.

“Oh, didn’t know someone else would be here,” Sam’s voice draws Dean’s attention away from Castiel’s face.

“He just dropped by, this is Cas. He was one of the paramedics that got me out my car.”

“Thank you, Cas.” Sam says sincerely.

“It’s my job,” He explains.

“I’m surprised he didn’t manage to walk off as soon as he saw the helicopter.” Sam jokes. Dean knows he means nothing by it, they’ve joked many times over the years about Dean’s peculiar and irrational aversion to flying but now it just stings and bubbles up pain and panic. Dean goes quiet and doesn’t joke back.

“I’m just leaving, I have to head back to base. Thank you for talking to me, I know I kinda intruded.” Castiel looks a bit sheepish, a stark contrast from the confident man he remembers from the roadside. It's cute.

“It’s fine, I appreciated it. More than you think,” because really, he doesn’t know where he’d be if he’d been left to stir in his own thoughts that were rapidly falling apart. Castiel nods and turns to leave, swerving round Sam who’s stood in the middle of the room. “You can come back—if you want. I’ll let Doctor Bradbury know you can. If you want, that is,” Dean stops before he makes a fool of himself. He's  glad when Castiel glances back with a smile and it’s a nice smile, sincere and almost hopeful.

“Of course, Dean.” Castiel inclines his head and leaves them to it.

Dean’s faced with his brother who is failing at hiding his smirk.

“What?” Dean grumbles, shifting himself a little on the bed, making him wince.

“I haven’t seen you that flustered since you bumped into that Aaron kid in high school.”

“Can it, bitch,” Dean retaliates.

“Jerk,”

Dean sleeps a lot. No more of his usual four hours and deal with the consequences, or sleeping off hangovers. One morning has him waking up to an all too cheery Dr. Bradbury with another woman beside her.

“Good morning, Dean. Glad to see you’re recovering well, I imagine it won’t be too long before you’re out of here.”

“Great,” Dean says, tiredly. Despite all the sleep, he still feels exhausted all the time. Nightmares during the night and hallucinations during the day have eased the past few days which Dean is thankful for. His hands still have a slight tremor and more so when he tries to handle smaller objects like pens and coins but he’s getting there.

“This is Dr. Missouri Moseley, she specialises in helping recovering alcoholics.” She announces and the woman smiles kindly.

“Um, hey,”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dean, I hope we can make some real progress and get you back on the right track to a healthy lifestyle.” She introduces. It’s cheesy and too enthusiastic and too much for Dean, he can already imagine getting exhausted after talking to her.

“She’s going to have a half-hour session with you today and then you can work out an hour session with her for several weeks once you’re out of here. I’ll also book you in with our physical therapist too, who’ll help you gain better movement and work with the tremors you’re experiencing.”

“Okay,” Dean placates. He wants to get better and if physical therapy and counselling gets him through his alcohol withdrawal like he wants to then he’ll have to soldier on through and do it.

“I’ll see you at three then.”  She tells him and leaves the room.

“It’s going to be better at the end, right?” Dean questions himself, Doctor Bradbury gives him a strange look but nods as if the question was directed to her.

“The tremors won’t last forever, but you’ve still been in a nasty car accident. You’ll be happier, healthier for sure.”

“Alright,”

Charlie takes a quick moment to note down some vitals and ask him some basic questions about his pain level before reducing his painkillers. The last thing she wants is for him to obtain another addiction while fighting off his current one. He's also finally allowed out of bed to go to the toilet on his own, giving him some more independence.

“I would advise against trying to walk on your own for today at least, if you need a hand, there’s a button on the remote to call a nurse.”

“Sure,” Dean lies. He knows the moment the doctor walks out he’ll try and do it by himself. He can’t rely on other people to help him to the bathroom, that’s just embarrassing, and now that the catheter was removed, highly unnecessary. He’s spotted the crutches in the corner, he can just use those.

“So, Missouri is seeing you at three, I’ll come back after her session and see how you’re doing later and we’ll need to do another MRI before we think about discharging you.”

“I could be outta here soon then?” Dean asks, hopefully.

“Providing everything checks out.”

“Thanks,”

“Any other questions?”

Dean shakes his head. “Oh wait! You haven’t seen the paramedic guy around, have you? He said he might drop by again, I was just wondering,”

“I haven’t seen him round today, but if I see him I could direct him your way. You feeling more talkative now?” She sets his chart back in the rack on the end of his bed and puts her bright yellow pen back in her pocket.

“Um... yeah, guess I was just angry before, sorry.”

“No sweat, Dean. I can handle a bit of irritation from a patient.” Dean smiles and lets Dr. Bradbury be on her way to her other patients. He wonders if the paramedic would be around before he has to see Missouri in a few hours. Having spoken to Cas, it dawns on him just how lonely he is, and he knows that’s mostly the reason he’s desperate to see the man he’s met twice.

Setting his head back into the flat, unsatisfying pillow, Dean stares at the blank ceiling. Maybe he _can_ get his life back on track, tidy his house (or the house that he inherited from his father), do some touching up, dig over the flower bed that has been over growing for the past twenty-two years and replant his mom’s favourite flowers. He can actually see his brother more often, rather than calling him up out of the blue drunk and barely coherent to make any sense. Maybe he can even date again. Thinking about it, he hasn’t been on a date in years and hasn’t had any memorable one-night stands either. Dating again could be fun. Even catching up with his brother over a beer will be nice. Oh. The realisation hits. Without the beer. Maybe just an apple juice instead.

This isn’t going to be easy.

Dean sleeps, head back on his pillow so it doesn’t ache so much and sheets tucked up to his chest. Unfortunately, his dreams aren’t candy corn and rainbows. Instead he dreams of the paramedic stumbling towards him, drink in hand, slurring his words before dropping to the floor. Dean’s stomach lurches and he wakes breathless and uneasy.

“Hello, Dean.” Blurred vision clears slowly and he sees Castiel stood against the door jamb looking unsure. He’s wearing his bright orange flight kit still, a bag hooked on his shoulder and he looks a little haggard and worn.

His words aren't slurred and everything seems normal, so Dean pushes the remains of his dream away.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean looks at the clock, there’s still an hour before his appointment with Missouri.

“I came in with a patient so I thought I’d drop by,” He says before coming in closer towards Dean. “Charlie caught me, and said you wanted to see me again,” He smiles gently.

“Yeah, my brother has gone to the motel, I told him to go back and stop hovering,” Dean tells him, as much as he loves his brother, there’s a limit to the amount of questions he gets about how he’s feeling and if he needs anything. “It’ll be nice to talk to someone else.”

“Well then,” Castiel starts to unzip his jacket, tugging it off to reveal a white t-shirt underneath with a sewn-on patch so people would know who he was if he were to take off his jacket. He folds it over the back of a chair and sits down with a heavy sigh. “I’ve had a long day so far, it’ll be nice to sit and chat,” one last glance at his pager and Castiel seems to relax tenfold.

They talk for a while, about growing up and about their siblings. Castiel has a lot of siblings it turns out and it sounds like it was a heap of chaos growing up. Dean and Sam had probably been chaos too, but on a much smaller scale. Talking about family releases the awkward tension of not knowing each other and lets them relax a little around each other as they continue to share their pasts. They laugh at anecdotes and share smiles and let their eyes linger just that moment too long. Dean realises just now comforting it is to talk to someone else for once.

“We fought a lot, there was a lot of people to argue with and it wasn’t always good.” Castiel explains. “Half the time it was stupid things like who ate the last cookie which was often my fault,”

Dean smiles, picturing a younger Cas stealing the last cookie with a wave of chaos rolling after him, it reminds him of Sam’s habit of stashing food in his room.

“There was always just me and Sam growing up, we fought too. Even ended up in a few fist fights which we both regretted. I definitely did once Sam got bigger. We got on each other’s nerves and knew too well which buttons to push. I love him, he’s my brother and he’s all I got now and I haven’t spoken to him in a while because of this shit,” Dean points to his general self. He’s still not sure where the decision to get in his car and drive to Sam came from. “But yeah, we pranked each other a lot too, that was fun. Except the time Sam glued my hand to a beer bottle, took ages to get all the glue off my hand,” Dean chuckles.

There’s a light knock on the door and Missouri pops her head round the door. “Hello, Dean,” she says. Dean nods to her, breaking his eye contact with Castiel. “Oh, you’ve got a friend. Hello there, Castiel. How’ve you been?”

Castiel stands and wraps Missouri in a big hug. “I’ve been good. Keeping busy and all. You here to speak to Dean?”

“Certainly am, my boy,” Missouri grins at Dean who looks between the two of them with confusion.

“I’ll leave you two to it then,” Castiel grabs his jacket.

“You know each other?” Dean wonders because the exchange was more than just working from the same hospital.

“Yeah, she was our social worker after my parents died. She made sure Michael was feeding us and had a good job to support us, she’s pretty great.” Dean smiled at the fondness he had for her. “I think you’ll like her. I should go, I hope to see you soon, Dean.”

Dean sees Castiel wave as he leaves the room before sighing and turning his attention to the woman.

“Nice to see you’ve made a friend there, Dean.” She says. Dean just smiles a little, suddenly feeling nervous to talk to her. It’s her goal to make him talk though, he knows how this goes, he tried counselling before except the guy he saw was an A Class dick and it had cost him a month’s worth of food. It wasn’t worth going back for someone to tell him to sort his life out without any inkling as to how.

“I doubt it’ll be for long, I live in Kansas and my brother in California... not really gonna be stayin’ here long. Doc said I might be able to get outta here in a couple of days.”

“That’s right, I’d like you to continue seeing someone afterwards, even if it’s not me. You’re going to need someone to talk to through this. Getting sober isn’t going to end with just the physical symptoms.”

Missouri has this kind look about her and it makes Dean feel four years old again being told off by his mom for talking to a stranger when he wasn’t supposed to. Dean knows of course, having been there the night his father crawled into bed, drunk off his ass, and didn’t wake up the next morning, leaving Dean to find him. Just remembering makes him twitchy.

Makes him remember the exact reason he started drinking so much all the time. His dad died and he drank most of a bottle of whisky, he lost his job after turning up hungover on more than one occasion and drank another. He stopped talking to his friends and slowly found himself making friends with Jack Daniels and Johnny Labinski.

After that it just became habit, a glass of whisky a night became two or three then more before it became a haze between drunk and hungover in a constant cycle. Thinking back, it was horrible. It wasn’t enjoyable, drinking wasn’t fun like it used to be, it was a necessity because Dean wasn’t sure he’d make it through the day without a drink. “Dean?”

“Sorry,” Dean murmured, looking back up to face Missouri. His hands were twisted in his sheets once again, shaking with withdrawal or just the tightness he was holding on with—Dean didn’t really know.

“How are you feeling right now, Dean?” She asks, voice soft but not condescending.

Fuck if Dean knows how he’s feeling. Shit, if he’s being truly honest. He shrugs instead.

“Use your words, Dean. None of this is gonna work if you just sit and grunt at me.” She chides gently.

The session goes as well as Dean expected, with a lot of nodding and agreeing and not a lot of actual talking. Missouri tells him that the session went well and hopes he thinks about carrying on with some kind of counselling.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean tells her and even though he knows that he should seek someone out, he’s not convinced that he actually will. Dean’s exhausted in all respects. His body is beginning to ache again and his hands are shaking more than before. Trying to stop it is frustrating. It’s barely early evening and all he wants to do is sleep.

Dean opens his eyes when he hears the door once again and it has barely been fifteen minutes but he must have dozed off.

“Hello, Dean,” Dr. Bradbury says cheerfully, picking his chart up from the end of his bed and noting down his vitals before doing all her usual checks. He flinches away when she grabs his wrist to take his pulse and again when she shines her penlight in his eyes but she ignores it. “How’s your pain?”

“Okay,” Dean lies.

“And the truth?” She presses.

“Tired, I ache,” Dean admits easily. He’s too tired to fight. “Can I have some water?”

“Sure thing, I’ll get one of the nurses to come by in a moment. Your hands still shaking?”

Dean nods numbly, picking up his hands and holding them out, he closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch them tremble against his will.

“Any more hallucinations or intrusive thoughts?” She wonders.

“No hallucinations but... maybe the other... I don’t know. I’m just not myself right now. Sorry,” Dean wedges his hands between his thighs and it feels like they stop shaking for a moment.

“You thinking about hurting yourself?” She asks, careful and slow and Dean doesn’t know what to think. It’s not entirely untrue. He seems to have managed to get through the worst of the withdrawal and he’s still alive, he managed to get here and even though he took a turn with a high fever from infection, he’s still here. It’s just that sometimes—sometimes he’s not convinced he should be.

Dean shrugs, non-committal. “I... I feel like I need a drink.” He tells her sadly. “I don’t want to, but it’s there, it’s just my go-to way of coping and I _hate_ it.” Dean balls his hands up into fists, body tensing until it hurts too much.

“Based on what we’ve just discussed, I’m going to keep you here a bit longer than I intended. I want you to talk to Dr. Moseley a few more times and I’ll introduce you to the PT guy we’ve got. He’ll help you learn how to use crutches before you get your cast removed and then he can help you strengthen your leg again. I’m going to get you some leaflets for the local AA groups and a good program which will help you.”

“No.” Dean tells her. It’s too much, he can’t do all of that. “I’m not joining some AA group. I’m not sharing my stupid feelings to a bunch of strangers I don’t know.” He protested.

“Dean, you need people. You need people like you who understand. You’ll need a sponsor, someone to talk to. All this is going to help you get yourself back together.”

Dean scowled. “I have people. I have my brother, I have...” _friends..._ except, Dean didn’t have friends, not anymore. “I have my brother.”

“And he said to me that eventually he’s gonna have to go back to California for university. You’re lucky he’s been able to stay this long. Spring break doesn’t last forever.”

“Then I’ll go to California with Sam. Doesn’t seem like I’ve got much left for me in Lawrence.”

“Dean...” Dr. Bradbury sighs. Dean looks up to her, giving her a warning glare. He’s made his decision. He’ll suffer through whatever he has to.

“No.” It’s final. He’s not doing it and there’s no way anyone will convince him.

Dr. Bradbury seems to give up with him, her shoulders dropping in defeat. “Alright. I can’t force you, but I...”

“I said no... I want to be left alone right now.” Dean tells her, pulling up his sheets and wishing he could bury underneath them without everything hurting.

Dr. Bradbury doesn’t mention the AA group again, thankfully. She does make him go to the Physical Therapist, a perky man who has far too much enthusiasm. Enough for Dean himself who sits quietly in the wheelchair and pointedly glares at anything but the guy. He’s not interested.

Eventually, the man—Garth, if he remembers rightly—steps into his vision. “You’re not getting better if you won’t work for it. I know everything hurts and nothing is right but that’s what we’re working on. You hear?”

Dean nods solemnly and lifts his head. He knows he _has_ to do this. It’s the only way for him to get better, to actually make a sizable dent in being sober. If he’s hurting and useless he knows his first instinct will be a bottle of Jack and that’s exactly what he’s avoiding.

“Alrighty then,” Garth chirps. He pulls a small table over with various small objects: coins, dice and a set of keys. “I want you to pick up the keys, take your time, deep breaths and concentrate.”

It feels stupid, his hands work, they just don’t work that well. He reaches out anyway and picks up they keys. His hands tremble, making the set of keys jingle and he growls to himself.

“Breathe, Dean. You’re doing good. It’s the first day. Okay, put down the keys and pick up one of the dice. Remember what I said, okay, keep breathing and keep concentrating.”

Dean drops the keys and eyes the dice warily. He remembers trying to pick up a pen the day before and he ended up kicking it off the bed in anger.

Dean manages the dice and the coins with frustration, hands trembling more with the effort needed. He knows long term that it will fade, Dr. Bradbury had told him that - but it doesn’t make it any less painful to watch his hands move out of his own control. It seems that his days of spanners and small screwdrivers are well behind him. He’ll never be a mechanic again.

Garth takes him through motions of picking up things and then, when Dean’s clearly tired of it, they move to getting Dean up out of his wheelchair and using crutches. Much to the discomfort of his ribs, it doesn’t come easy. Dean just grunts though and powers himself through the first few steps. He doesn't say anything even though his leg aches horribly beneath his cast, his stitches from surgery pull, and his damaged ribs feel like they’re on the verge of breaking. It’s only when Dean missteps and nearly falls that he yells out.

“Okay, alright,” Garth finalises, helping Dean to quickly sit back in the wheelchair. He can’t breathe, he doesn’t dare move or talk so he just sits. He can sense Garth is in front of him but his vision is blurred with pain and he just can’t focus. His mind is running a mile a minute, replaying his stumble, sensing himself crashing to the floor and just shattering into a thousand pieces.

“Hey, Dean? Dean, look at me.” The fire is still raging in his chest but he’s found space to take a breath, shallow and slow. He blows it out and takes another, vision still unfocused. He grumbles and blinks several times before looking up at Garth. “I’m gonna grab the nurse to get you something and then we’re done for the day.”

Dean has another gruelling session with Garth the day after resulting in more pain medication and frustration. Missouri comes back in to chat with him and he manages more words than the last time. Missouri calls it progress, Dean just wants to get out of there.

Dr. Bradbury checks his progress and seems to be happy and tells him he can go home within the week. Sam grins but when Doctor Bradbury leaves he turns to him with a sour face. Dean’s going to get a talking to, he knows it.

“Dean,” Sam starts.

Dean swallows and steels himself. Here it comes, talks about rehab or some bullshit about sponsors and spilling feelings.

“You’re not going to listen to me, are you?” Sam acquiesces with a sigh. Dean doesn’t dignify him with an answer. Instead, he throws back the sheets and uses his newfound skills from Garth to get across the room to the bathroom. He’s on some strong pain relievers, so he barely flinches when he gets there and shuts the door firmly.

Inside the bathroom he clings to the sink. He doesn’t want to look in the mirror. He knows his face is worn, covered in fading bruises, a few cuts that are only just starting to heal up. He knows he looks awful, he doesn’t need the mirror to confirm it. The sink is cold beneath his fingers so he stands up as straight as he can without everything burning through his pain relief haze, eyes still averted from the small mirror pinned to the wall. He lifts the t-shirt he's wearing a little and fingers over the large bandage covering his torso, hiding what he knows will eventually be a scar running down the centre of his body. Briefly his mind drifts to the paramedic, and he can hear him calling it a battle scar, because Cas has an air of kindness around him that he doubts would ever cease. He doubts he'll see the man again, a busy paramedic like Cas will probably forget about him in an instant and move on to someone else.

A gentle knock nearly topples Dean over. He’s as fragile as a fucking flower and he hates it. This isn’t who he is. “What?” He bites out harshly. Fuck. Dean needs to get his head on straight. He can't be angry at everyone just because he's angry at himself.

“It’s me, Castiel. I… can we talk? I think I have an idea.” Castiel’s voice seems uncertain and Dean’s shocked he even came back. He hasn’t seen him since before he spoke with Missouri, it had been niggling at Dean that perhaps he’d scared the guy off—it wouldn’t have surprised him. He doesn’t know what kind of plan the man has concocted, but he’d bet anything Sam had been part of it. Picking up the crutches where he’d stashed them against the basin, Dean opens the door and hobbles out, blanking both Castiel and his brother who was looking forlorn sat in the chair in the corner.

“Dean—” Sam starts.

“Can it.” Dean grouses. He takes several breaths before hauling himself back into his bed and lies back carefully. He eyes Castiel carefully, all tousled hair and rumpled, worked in uniform. The man looks like he’s dying to say something, to explain his idea. Dean prepares himself. He can say no, he can pull the plug on the whole thing if it’s not what he wants. Though, what he _does_ want isn’t going to be an easy fix. He wants to magically be all fine and dandy and go back to his peachy life and shitty house, but that’s not going to happen any time soon. So he can at least hear the guy out.

“What’s this plan you’ve got then?” Dean asks, attention fully on Castiel.

“I’ll be your sponsor.” Castiel says earnestly.

Dean turns his nose up. This is exactly what he doesn’t want.

“No.” Dean tells him firmly.

“Dean—"

“I said no! I told that doctor I didn’t want any part in those pansy mother’s meetings.”

“Let me explain, please.”

“Castiel, don’t waste your breath. He’s being stubborn. He won’t listen,” Sam interjects from where he’s sat.

“I’m not listening to either of you, okay.”

“Jesus, Dean. Will you give it a break?” Sam stands up abruptly, the book which had been resting on the arm tumbling off and slapping onto the floor. Sam storms out without another word. Castiel then stands there, still facing where Sam had been sat.

“You gonna storm off too?” Dean asks bitterly. Castiel turns to Dean and sets his jaw.

“Listen to me, Dean.” Castiel says shortly. He takes a few paces towards Dean. He doesn’t know what it’ll take to get the notion that Dean _needs_ help through his thick skull, but he’s willing to bet that some close words will sway him. “You need someone, you need me to help you through this. No questions.”

Dean looks up at him with fever shiny eyes. “I have Sam.” Dean’s tells him just as sharply.

“You won’t let Sam help, Sam’s not always going to be able to provide the help that you need. You need your brother _and_ you need someone else. You need me. I’ll be your sponsor—"

Dean glares and opens his mouth to retaliate but Castiel stops him. “Fine. I’ll be your friend. I’ll be a phone call away the moment you feel like you want a drink. I’ll be right there if you need someone to talk to. I’ll be there even if it’s 3am in the morning and you just can’t fucking sleep.”

“I’m not after anything official. Technically, I can’t even be a sponsor - but I want to do this, Dean. I want to help you. You _need_ help. Don’t you get it?”

Dean goes quiet, no sense of wanting to argue back. His eyes soften and the grip he has on the sheets loosen. “Why me?”

“Because after we pulled you out of the wreck you asked me not to let go. This is me not letting go.”

The air is quiet between them as they stay close together. Just their breaths and the distant sound of the machines around Dean making any noise. It’s intense, whatever this is between them. Like an arrow waiting to be fired. There’s a mumble from Dean but Castiel doesn’t catch it. He’s too busy caught up in Dean’s eyes, the unhealthy complexion of his skin and the way pale freckles rest over his nose; the way his lips curve and bow perfectly. It’s only when they move and their eye contact is broken that Castiel is shot away from his staring.

“I didn’t...”

“No AA meetings?” Dean repeats quietly.

“None, unless you want to go. I won’t force you.”

“And... and...” It seems like Dean winces at the words. “you’ll be there.”

“I’ll be there.” Castiel smiles. He doesn’t dare get any closer, fearing he’ll break whatever he just accomplished. Instead he just nods and takes a few steps back to lean against the wall. When he looks up he can see Sam with a steaming coffee in his hand. Dean hasn’t noticed him yet but between he and Sam, they share a nod.

This is where they start.

 

 

It’s mid-afternoon and Dean has been sat in the dark for hours. It isn’t as if Dean expected the past ten months to be easy, the times he had crept onto the Internet to find information, it had said the first year was the hardest, focussing on looking after yourself. That hasn’t gone down too well.

Unfortunately, Dean barely remembers half of November. Except the phone call to Sam. He’d been sober then, just about. He didn’t have much choice but to fake it in front of Sam. He doesn’t have much choice in remembering Sam’s anger either. He didn’t fake sobriety as well as he’d hoped. Sam had been so disappointed and that churned up more guilt.

He wants to move; the dishes have been stacking up over the past two weeks and when he ran out he binged on take out. It hasn’t been great and he’s not proud of himself. But he hasn’t touched alcohol in two months. Instead, Dean lies back and stares at the dark ceiling, his eyes have adjusted to the low light and they flick from one dingy corner of the room to another. He wants to regret moving back in to his dad’s place, the home he grew up in and got deliriously drunk in day after day and month after month, but part of him relishes in the feel of home. He has his brother, sure, but he’s halfway across the country—just a phonecall away, he reminds himself—and technically he still has Castiel in Denver but he hasn’t spoken to him in months after their argument. Fuck, that really wasn't something he wanted to think about.

Dean sighs loudly when his stomach rumbles. Instead of lying in his dark bedroom any longer, Dean gets up and trudges downstairs. The rest of the house is bright, January sunlight coming through the windows and making his eyes ache and his head hurt just by having them open. Slowly, his eyes adjust as he manages to get into the kitchen. Drawing the blinds from the harsh sun, Dean opens the fridge in search of something decent to eat. Various leftover takeouts that he can’t guarantee are even safe to eat anymore, aside from one half eaten box of Chinese that he knows he ate yesterday.  That’ll have to do. He microwaves it and dumps it on a plate and eats almost mechanically because the Chinese down the road is tasteless and not great reheated.

Afterwards he stares at the dishes, willing himself to run a bowl of water to wash them up. A shadow passes by the blinds and curious, Dean opens them again. A small bird is sat on the backyard fence, looking around and chirping, Dean smiles a little and he runs a bowl of water.

He hisses as his fingers touch the scalding water. So, he fills the coffee maker with the last of the coffee he has in the house and sets it going. By the time he’s got a steaming cup of coffee the water has just about cooled enough to put his hands in. His fingers turn red with the heat but he washes and rinses and stacks and tessellates them expertly, remembering how just a few months ago he could barely pick up a set of keys and it sets off something inside him. Calm and relaxation wash over him and he rinses off the cutlery, watching the bird hop around his fence in the garden before flapping over to the small bird bath and dipping in.

Dishes clean and drying, taking up most of the counter space with how much there was, Dean opens the fridge once again and throws everything that’s inedible in the trash. All that’s left are condiments, though Dean sure he could probably find some frozen dinners if he looked hard enough. He pulls out various cleaning chemicals from under the sink, wiping down the stove and the worktops until the laminate comes up shiny. The places begins to smell like citrus and he sneezes several times. Dean wipes down the fridge shelves too now that they’re empty and the wipes come away disgusting. He turns his nose up. He sweeps the linoleum flooring, avoiding the patch with a hole in. He’s soon out of breath and leans against a counter to catch it. Everything feels fresh, including himself and he feels better for it..

Kitchen clean, Dean moves through the house and he finds himself piling stuff together to get rid of it. Books he’s never read that belong to his dad. He’s sure the local goodwill will take them. He stands outside his dad’s room for a long time. He hasn’t really been in there for over three years, he remembers going in as a young kid and crawling over his dad so he could snuggle down between his parents and rest his head on his mom’s stomach to hear baby Sammy moving around.

Going into his dad’s room is like going into another world. Dust is everywhere and Dean fights a cough. Still, after nearly a year and plenty of physiotherapy, he can’t help but imagine coughing up blood like he’d done after the accident. His neck aches occasionally too, especially in the cold and some days his leg just bothers him more than he hoped. He’s got control over his hands though, a small respite above everything else. It briefly came back after his spiralling November relapse but he thankfully got his hands back after a much shorter period of time.

His dad’s room has his double bed and a dresser, the odd knickknack around and what he knows is his dad’s abandoned journal in the top drawer of his side table. He found that by accident about a decade ago, guiltily rifling through it and finding pictures of his mom and him and Sam all together. Six months was all they got as a real family. Dean wishes he’d been older so he could remember more, that he’d know his mom meant more to him than home baked pies and warm hugs. He had the odd story about his mom from when dad was drunk but the journal explained more.

He opens the closet and coughs at the dust and plumes out. Waving it away he grabbed armfuls of his dad’s old clothes and dumped them unceremoniously into the bed before spending the next half hour meticulously folding each item. Then it’s piled into garbage bags until every drawer is empty. The polish and vacuum come out and soon enough the room is spotless, bed stripped bare too.

Dean gets an idea then and nods to himself. He takes away the mattress, dumping it outside, then dismantles the bedframe and stacks it to one side before removing the drawers from the chest of drawers. Before long, the sun has set and the room is empty and Dean feels good. He knows he accomplished something.

He’s only managed to find part time work at the local mechanic shop. It’s nowhere near what he used to do and he’s treated more like an apprentice than anything—but it’s work and he gets paid for it and it’s enough to just about tide him over for the month to pay for food and bills.

He knows redecorating his entire house will take a huge chunk of time and money and effort but he also knows that setting himself the project will be good for him.

 _Set goals and stick to them. Even if they're small goals._ He remembers the words from one of his counselling sessions. Small goals like doing the dishes, bigger goals like redecorating. All attainable with a bit of self-encouragement.

His stomach rumbles and he reminds himself to grab groceries tomorrow so he can have actual food in the house that isn’t take out, he misses cooking when he thinks about it. He’s got a nice clean kitchen to work in. New leaf or something, he thinks. Maybe it’s too far into January for a resolution but who knows. But if he had to make a resolution, he knows where he'd start. Everyone had always told him he needed someone. For every piece of advice he'd listened to, this was the hardest to follow. He still doesn't have any friends. At least not anymore.

****

The lady at the checkout is chatty as she scans his food. Dean finds himself smiling and chatting back, telling her about redecorating his house and making a change with the new year. It feels good to talk to someone, it feels as though he hasn’t in a long time. He wonders briefly if getting back in contact with his old friends at the garage he used to work at would be a good idea, he can’t even work out _how_ adults even make friends. He shuffles the thought for later consideration and pays the woman more money than he’d been expecting. He’s happy, however, excited to go home and bake a pie which he hasn’t done in years, the fresh peaches had been on offer after all. How long this bout of happiness will last, Dean doesn’t want to think about. He plans to make the most of it.

Dean dumps his groceries in his truck, turns the ignition and listens for a moment as the old hunk of metal shudders and jerks into life. He misses his baby - he’d do anything to get back in her, fix her up from the sorry, dismantled and crushed state she’s in but every time he opens the garage door he freezes with phantom pains shooting down his neck and spine and a tightness filling his chest. One particular time, he found blood on his hands and ended up sat in the middle of the kitchen floor for hours until he realised that it had been a simple nose bleed and that was it.

The roads are quiet, it’s midmorning and most people are at work already. His shift doesn’t start until midday so he’s got time to put away his food and grab a sandwich before he heads out. Packing food away is cathartic for the few moments it lasts and then he’s changing into his work clothes and heading out the door again.

Work is strenuous and the people he works with banter and tease with each other but they don’t really include him. He’s happy to get on with the bunch of cars he’s got to work on. Some stuck up woman comes in and complains that the work hadn’t been done fast enough and Dean gets reprimanded for it. He just sighs and apologises before making sure he gets the next car out on time. Dean’s boss barely even considered the fact that rusty bolts take a hell of a lot longer to undo than new ones. He wasn’t about to argue though, he needs this job and he can feel the itch in his boss to get rid of him at the blink of an eye.

When he finally gets home, throwing his keys into the bowl beside the door he decides to clear out his own room. He’s going to change things up. Sam’s room will be an office space, his dad’s room will be his and his old room will be the guest space, mainly for Sam, if he wants to get back in touch.

It takes hours to clear out and he laughs when he finds his collection of porn magazines hidden at the back of his wardrobe. The date suggests they’re at least five years old, and he’s a little shocked to find a gay porn edition tucked between the pages of Busty Asian Beauties. He flips through it, cheeks colouring and heat rising in his chest at the provocative positions inside. He shuts it quickly, he can’t remember having bought it, but he puts it away in the discard pile along with the others. He does keep the little firemen figures which he remembers playing with when he was younger. Old keepsakes boxed away neatly, Dean stacks them to one side as he dismantles the wardrobe, it’s still sturdy and he’ll use it in his new room. For now, Dean changes and gets into bed to sleep, forgoing dinner.

Castiel thinks about Dean every day, even though he hasn’t heard from him in nearly six months. It hurts, the way they left things giving no closure to either of them. It seems Dean was true to his word when he said he wouldn’t be contacting him. Castiel never deleted Dean’s number, however, hoping one day he’ll get a text from him.

January is cold and he’s wearing his search and rescue fleece on top of his sweater to keep in the warmth. They haven’t had a call out all day which is refreshing and instead he and Benny have been playing cards in the break room.

Castiel looks up to Benny after laying down his winning hand and grinning. “You wanna prize or somethin’?” Benny teases.

“No, we should play for something though, make it more fun,”

“Nah, I ain’t bettin’ anything against you.” Benny laughs. Castiel checks his watch, just under an hour before his shift finishes. “Don’t fuckin’ jinx it.” Benny warns.

“I’m not!” Castiel retorts and begins to reset their game. It’s too late and the warning bell signals a job. Castiel scrambles for his phone and reads the information he gets, pulling on his flying helmet and head set awaiting instructions.

“Ah, fuck, climber fallen onto a ledge on Capitol Peak. Conscious but suspected broken femur,”

“It’s gotta be hitting the minus twenties up there.” Benny noted, pulling on his cold weather gear. They both went up to the helipad and Castiel pulled his medical pack onto his back on the way. He hoped the guy was experienced, he’d at least have some provisions up there with him.

The ride out to Capitol Peak was cold. Castiel couldn't tell if he was nervous about the big rescue ahead of them or if he was just cold, both made him shiver. He had to get it together either way, someone’s life depended on it. The main rescue units that normally took these cases were on other jobs and couldn’t get back to the climber without a refuel so it was up to him and Benny to get this guy safely off the mountain.

The pilot came to the grid reference they’d been given by the dispatch, helpfully accurate as the climber had been able to relay his location. With snow and ice covering the mountain too, it would be impossible to land the helicopter, so Castiel heaved the medical pack onto his shoulder and clipped himself onto the winch.

“You ready?” Benny asked through their coms, checking the clips before sending him over the edge. Castiel swung down at a controlled speed, heading towards what he could see to be a good landing space below him. The climber was propped up against the rocks, eyes shut against the pain he must be feeling. He’d managed to cover himself in a foil blanket to help keep himself warm and he’d drunk half of his emergency water.

“Hey, my name is Cas, I’m a paramedic. What’s your name?”

“Adam. Adam Milligan.”

“Okay, Adam, can you tell me what’s hurting the most?” Castiel kneels down in the cold snow and pulls off his thick gloves to replace them with sterile purple ones.

“My leg, I think I may have dislocated my shoulder too.” The man seemed pretty young to be traipsing up in the mountains alone, especially ones as treacherous as this. Castiel pulls out his pen light and shines it in the man’s eyes. “Equal and reactive—you didn’t hit your head, did you?”

Adam shakes his head.

“You didn’t pass out at all?” Castiel asks. Adam shakes his head again. “Good, okay, are you allergic to any medications or have taken anything within the last few hours?” at Adam's negative he opens up his bag. “I’m going to give you something for the pain and then we can start thinking about getting you into the chopper and to a hospital.  Okay?”

Adam looks up to the sky where the helicopter is circling. “Do I have to fly?” He asks, concerned. The question reminds him of Dean and a wave of sadness washes over him. He misses his friend.

“I don’t think you’ll be walking down this mountain any time soon, buddy.” _Buddy_ , that’s what Dean used to say.

Castiel mentally shakes Dean out of his brain, he’s got someone else to worry about right now and he needs his complete focus on him. Capitol Peak is dangerous and he needs to be with it or it’ll end badly for the both of them.

Castiel keeps talking to Adam, slipping a needle and cannula into the back of the man’s hand while he’s distracted. “Okay, this will dull the pain so I can get your leg into a splint and onto a backboard then winched up. Sound like a plan?”

“Not a fan of flying, I can climb eighteen 14ers, but can’t stand flying, go figure.” Adam comments. Castiel huffs a laugh.

“Well, you haven’t got a lot of choice, besides the painkillers will ease some of your worries. You ready?”

Adam visibly swallows and Castiel gives him the medication. It’s only a few moments until Adam relaxes and Castiel places an oxygen mask over his face. The splint is wrapped around Adam’s leg with a grunt from the climber and he straps it securely into place. He radios through to Benny to lower the stretcher and once it hits the ground, Castiel makes quick work of getting the man in and secured in place. “Going up!” Castiel signals to Benny and, both clipped in place, they begin to float up towards the beating of the helicopter blades. Castiel sees Adam shut his eyes tightly. Thankfully it doesn’t take long to get him safely into the helicopter where Benny begins to take and note down his vitals. The helicopter is already on its way to the nearest hospital and Castiel lets himself breathe for a moment. Why today of all days a patient had to remind him of Dean he doesn’t know, but it hurts.

He lost his best friend. He shouldn’t have, but he did.

They touch down on the hospital roof with a light bump and Castiel realises he’s had his hand on Adam’s shoulder the whole way back. Castiel reels off the man’s vitals and explains what he’s given him for pain and his situation, before letting the doctors cart him off down the hallway.  Castiel leans against the wall and knocks his head back against it. He’s exhausted both physically and mentally. Someone touches his elbow where his arms are wrapped around his body.

“Y’alright there?” Benny asks gently. He tugs on Castiel’s sleeve. “C’mon, we can get home now.”

Castiel follows Benny numbly back to the helicopter and they head back to base. The whole way back, he can feel Benny watching him but he doesn’t talk to him or even look at him. He can’t. All four of them disembark the helicopter and head back into the Base centre where Castiel goes straight to the changing rooms and opens his locker. He and Dean were never _supposed_ to get so close, it just happened. Castiel wanted so badly for something more than their supportive friendship but he couldn’t put that on Dean while he was recovering. He’d done his research, he knows what he should have been doing and he wanted to break every rule in the book. But it wasn’t fair on Dean, so he pulled away and regretted every single second that he did. Dean didn’t seem to notice so much, not to his knowledge and then Cas had pulled away more and told Dean to ask his brother to help out his recovery too. He supposed he should have known that wouldn’t go down well.

When Castiel stuffs his uniform into his locker somewhat unceremoniously, his eyes flicker to the calendar he pinned inside of the door.

_January 24 th._

Dean’s birthday.

The drive back to his apartment is dull and boring. He receives a text from Benny asking him if he’s okay which he ignores and he orders two burgers from the fast food joint down the road because he can’t be bothered to walk three blocks.

His fingers hover over Dean’s name. It wouldn’t be weird to text Dean a birthday message, right?

He can’t help but imagine Dean sat in his house alone, last he knew, Dean wouldn’t even talk to his brother. Castiel sighs, then holds his breath as he hits send.

****

Dean’s just finished stripping out Sam’s room when he gets the text. It’s late and he can’t think who’d be texting him this time of night but he puts down the slats to Sam’s bed to one side and retrieves it from where it had been playing Led Zeppelin from the phone’s tinny speaker.

Cas. The text is from Cas. His stomach does a funny flip and he sits on the floor, awkwardly cross-legged.

> **Castiel | 11:13pm |** _Happy birthday, hope it’s a good one. I miss you._

Dean stares for a long time at the text, his heart beating heavy in his chest. He should reply, a single thanks and put his phone away and return to finishing Sam’s room while he’s still awake. But instead he gets up off the floor and blindly walks downstairs, reading the words over and over again. He does check the date and he realises that it is in fact January 24th. He doesn’t even remember telling Cas about his birthday, let alone expecting him to remember. It reminds him that there’s people who do care, and that he’s not completely alone. The need for someone else clouds his brain and  the couch becomes a strange comfort. It’s old and worn and has been sat in so much it sags and hugs him as he sits.

He reads the text again one last time before replying with shaky fingers. _Thanks_ , he writes and then adds _buddy_ to the end. He’s not sure if he should expect a text back but he waits with bated breath anyway, it’s pathetic really. But Castiel had become a friend to him, a best friend since he’d lost so many and he’d helped. He wanted to help Dean for Dean and that stood with Dean. He enjoyed the man’s company, he was quiet but not so much that they never talked - they did a hell of a lot of talking and they learned a lot from each other. Dean even taught Cas how to change a tyre and a spark plug and Cas taught Dean some basics of first aid, just in case. Hell, the man had gotten him through several physiotherapy sessions which had been some of the hardest work ever. The counselling sessions he had gone to with Missouri had been a one-man show but Castiel tried to be there afterwards when he wasn’t on call.

> **Dean | 11:18pm |** _I forgot about my birthday. Is that bad?_
> 
> **Dean | 11:18pm |** _I’ve been redecorating dad’s house._
> 
> **Castiel | 11:20pm |** _Sounds like a great day._
> 
> **Dean | 11:20pm |** _Thank you for remembering_
> 
> **Castiel | 11:21pm |** _Someone had to ;)_

Dean doesn’t know what to make of the wink face but it makes him smile.

> **Castiel | 11:21pm |** _*:)_
> 
> **Dean | 11:22pm |** _I’m glad it was you. Was your day exciting?_
> 
> **Castiel | 11:22pm |** _Rescued a guy from a 14er, he didn’t like flying. Just like you._
> 
> **Dean | 11:22pm |** _14er? Sounds like a sane guy to me._
> 
> **Castiel | 11:25pm |** _Capitol Peak, 14,137ft high. 14er. He was less fussy than you._

Dean laughs out loud. Over the first few months, they’d learnt to talk about Dean’s accident with a bit of humour. Even though facing his Baby was a challenge, he could deal with this.

> **Dean | 11:26pm |** _I wasn’t fussy._
> 
> **Castiel | 11:28pm |** _You wanted to walk away from a car crash, Dean. You were adamant about not flying._
> 
> **Dean | 11:28pm |** _Haha whatever_
> 
> **Castiel | 11:43pm |** _Can I ask you something?_
> 
> **Dean | 11:43pm |** _Sounds ominous for nearly midnight._
> 
> **Castiel | 11:44pm |** _Can we meet for coffee?_

Coffee. Right.

Dean types _no_ but deletes it. He doesn’t even know. No contact for six months and now a meeting for coffee, it’s mostly his fault they haven’t spoken. He said things he shouldn’t have and he overreacted, and then the guilt piled on and it felt too late to do anything about it.

> **Dean | 11:46pm |** _OK_

Simple answer, can’t be interpreted as good or bad. He should fix things after all.

> **Castiel | 11:46pm |** _Thank you. Is your truck up for the drive over? Can I meet you in the coffee shop on the corner? Whenever you’re free, of course._

Dean likes that coffee shop, it’s got big windows and a cosy interior with comfy couches and low oak tables. He and Cas had spent many afternoons in there chatting. During the summer months once Dean had his cast off and was walking around better, they sat in the tiny garden it promoted, coffees in hand and a plate (or two) of pie.

> **Dean | 11:46pm |** _Yeah. I’m not working this weekend. Saturday 2pm?_
> 
> **Castiel | 11:46pm |** _Perfect :)_

Dean sets his phone down, jittery with the thought of seeing Cas again, and puts it on charge for the night. Back upstairs, he makes sure Sam’s room is squared away, rest of the dismantled bed stacked against the wall, before retiring for the night.

His room feels cold and empty now he’s taken most of his stuff out but he’s excited to start making this house his own. It’s been dad’s for far too long, it’s time for a change.

Dean dreams of having coffee with Cas, a strange mixture of things that have and haven’t happened already and ending up with Dean dreaming about his argument with Cas. He tosses and turns in his sleep as he yells and bangs his fist violently against a wall, bottle of whiskey is the other waving around and some of the contents sloshing out. Dean wakes abruptly and feels sick. He stumbles to the bathroom to pee and splashes water over his face. It’s 4am. There’s no point sleeping now.

Instead, he clears of Sam’s room, still in his boxers and sleep shirt. He does find Sam’s porn stash which makes Dean laugh, he never imagined his little brother buying porn mags, but such is life. Dean’s glad Sam has someone like Jess, he’s never met her but they seem happy enough, and despite his and Sam’s strained relationship, it’s all Dean wants for his little brother.

The sun rises slowly and Dean washes up his coffee mug and breakfast plate, eyeing the backyard for the little bird he often sees out there, it’s nowhere in sight but Dean enjoys the view anyway. 

His work day is quiet, his boss shouts at him when he drops a box of bolts and he spends the next half an hour clearing them up which puts him behind. It doesn’t matter though because the next job he gets is an easy fix, one he’s had to do on the Impala several times over the years. When he hands the keys back to the owner, his boss gives him a nod of approval. That makes Dean feel good.

Despite not really talking to his colleagues, Dean says goodbye to them anyway before heading out the door. He’ll be heading to Denver in the morning and after climbing in his truck to head home, he realises that he’s excited. This is his chance to make things right with Castiel.

The drive to Denver is long and boring and hellish in the old truck. It rattles and squeals and he doesn’t even have any of the tapes he used to have in the Impala. Most of the ones he had were destroyed and any that were salvageable are still inside the wreckage. He sticks with the radio but gets bored of all the talking by presenters who try too hard to be funny. He stops three times, once to restock his snack seat and then peeing because he’s been drinking so much coffee.

The coffee shop is in view and Dean drives past it, knowing he’ll find parking down the street. The place is eerily second nature to him as he drives round and parks up. He’d done this hundreds of times not so long ago and he sits, butterflies storming his stomach and waits for 2pm to arrive. Despite all he ate on the way there, he’s starving for some real food. Bored of waiting, Dean shoots Cas a text to let him know he’s there and jumps out his truck, the door slams shut and he locks it before heading down the street.

The air is brisk so he pulls his jacket collar up around his neck and hunches his shoulders against the cold. The sign above the coffee shop is worn and hand-painted, matching the shops interior.

Oddly enough, the chairs he and Cas used to sit on are free and he goes over and sits down heavily. He looks around, seeing that nothing has changed. It’s strange, so much has happened since the last time he saw Cas and yet nothing has changed. It’s not that he didn’t expect it to, he just thought people would notice that something is different. But people don’t think about other people, they just think about themselves. It’s a strange and existential thought that has Dean questioning the lives of everyone else around him.  The waitress behind the counter serving the short line of customers is the same one he met before and briefly he wonders if she’d remember him. The other wait staff are bustling around collecting old cups and passing out pre-ordered food.

When Dean gets his phone out, he sees he hasn’t had a response from Cas but the bell above the door tinkles and in walks Cas with his billowing trenchcoat, and his unruly hair, looking as frazzled and stoic as he did six months ago. Castiel catches his eye and his face softens and he smiles.

Dean stands as Castiel walks over, ready to greet him, apologise, something. He holds out his hand and it feels too formal and Castiel ignores it anyway, pulling Dean into a hug, tightening his arms around him.

Dean falls apart under his touch. No one in six months has touched him like that. He wraps his arms around Castiel just as tight, pushing away any concerns he had over their meeting. Fuck it feels so good to have someone’s arms around him. “Hey, Cas.” Dean mumbles into Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel pulls back, holding him at arm’s length, eyeing him up and down. “Hello, Dean.”

“How’s things going?” Dean asks as they sit down, Cas in the opposing squishy chair Dean knows he prefers.

“Things are good. Busy, taken a few extra shifts but everything has been going fine.” Castiel nods as he speaks, holding Dean’s gaze. Dean can feel him examining him, it feels intrusive but then again, that’s just how Castiel had always been.

“How have you been, Dean?” Dean takes a deep breath. He knew Castiel would ask, there was no doubt in it but he was still unsure about unloading on the guy.

“Coffee?” Dean asks, deflecting.

Castiel seems to stumble over words for a moment before sighing and nodding. Dean remembers Cas’ coffee order like he told him yesterday so joins the queue. Dean watches Cas fidget out the corner of his eye, he seems more nervous about their meet-up than Dean does. He’s so busy watching Castiel, he doesn’t notice it’s his turn at the counter until someone taps him on the shoulder.

“Oh, right. Uh, one black coffee and a honeycomb latte, please,” Dean hands over the money when she asks and then stands to one side to collect his order. He takes another look at Cas, he hasn’t changed. Not that he expected him too. He just feels changed himself so he guesses he expected people to notice.

“Honeycomb latte and a black coffee?” the woman asks and Dean nods, taking the mug and the latter glass from the counter top.

Dean moves swiftly with the drinks and plants them down between him and Cas before sitting himself.

“What have you been up to?” Castiel asks, Dean doesn’t miss the different question.

“Redecorating my house. Cleared most of it out, feels like a creepy shell at the minute.”

Castiel nods. Dean realises how Cas may have interpreted his words and takes a breath, knowing what’s going to come next.

“Have you been okay?”

“Went off the deep end start of November,” Dean admits quietly, eyeing Cas warily. It isn’t hard to tell him really, he used to tell Cas this stuff all the time before.

Castiel’s shoulders drop and Dean can feel the disappointment dripping off him, but it’s obvious Cas is just upset for him. Dean _had_ been doing well and if he’s honest with himself, he’s doing okay now.

Dean continues before Castiel can say anything to him about it, “I’m back on track, two months and however many days sober.”

“I’m...” Castiel looks up at him with a small but bright smile.  “I’m glad.”

“It was crap timing with-”

“Your mom’s death,” Castiel finishes gently and Dean nods, taking a swig of the bitter coffee, it tastes so much nicer than the on-the-go sludge.

“This redecorating I’m doing, it’s helping. Keeping me busy when I’m at home, I should find another job to help pay for it along with the medical bills but it’s good,”

“And your garage?”

Dean sucks in a breath, he should probably tell Castiel about the _incident_. He shakes his head instead though, he’ll tell Castiel eventually, just not right now.

“You’ll get there.” Cas tells him and Dean knows that. Cas saying so does help.

“Thanks, Cas.”

“Dean—I’m sorry, for how things were left between us.” Dean’s eyes flick to Castiel, he looks sincere and unsure. Castiel isn’t the one who left things in a shit state, that was all on Dean.

“Cas—"

“Dean, I need to say this. I... I’m not happy with what happened.  I said I’d be there and I haven’t been for the past five months. I could’ve tried, at least. I threw myself into more shifts than I should have, even Benny was concerned. Before you tell me it’s your fault, it was me too. You stopped calling and started cancelling on me, then you disappeared back to Lawrence, but I didn’t go and find you. I asked your landlord where you’d gone and I just accepted that that was it. I just accepted it. That’s not how I was meant to do things.

“It was so obvious that something wasn’t right, and I didn’t do _anything_ to help you out,” Castiel’s compulsively stirring his latte, Dean’s listening but he’s watching the careful motion. “I should’ve helped you, Dean.”

“ _I_ shouldn’t have left.” Dean counters. It’s true, October twenty-seventh, he packed all his stuff into his truck, rang the landlord for the apartment he’d been renting and headed back to Lawrence. He wasn’t supposed to have left. That hadn’t been the plan. He’d had a good thing going with Cas but it was too much. He never relied on people this much, never. He was the older brother, he was the friend that sorted out the others - when he had friends - and then he’d leant on Castiel like his life depended on it. Which it did, more than once. Then when the anniversary of his mom’s death came around he didn’t even want to think about burdening Cas with that either. “I didn’t want to leave.” He adds quieter.

Dean watches as Castiel tilts his head a little in confusion and Dean almost wants to laugh. It’s... endearing. “Then why _did_ you leave?”

He has about ten answers to that question but he doesn’t want to tell Cas any of them. He should, Castiel _is_ a friend. Dean drains the last of his coffee and Castiel does too, mirroring him subtly but not enough for Dean not to catch on. Either Dean will answer Castiel’s question or Castiel will ask something else, someone has to back down. Until then they stare at each other.

Dean flicks his eyes away to a crumb on the coffee table. It’s probably from one of the cafe’s chocolate cakes but that’s beside the point. He’s supposed to be answering Castiel’s question. Castiel’s looking at him with sadness in his eyes when he looks back up and Dean takes a breath. He’ll tell Castiel the truth—most of it. He deserves that.

“It got too much. I was... I was happy with you, doing stuff, but then, mom’s death crept up and I’d _forgotten_ about it. I forgot about my own mom’s death, Cas!” Dean says desperately. It hurts him remembering when he’d realised, like a stab to the gut. It makes his coffee sit funny in his stomach so he leans back and folds his arms with a sigh. There’s no use getting worked up over it.

“You’re allowed to move on, you know. It doesn’t have to hurt every single time.”

“I know that, I do... I just. It’s not that simple.”

“I understand.” And Cas probably does, he’s the single most understanding person on the planet and it baffles Dean sometimes.

“What do you wanna do now?” Dean asks, not so subtly changing the subject.

Castiel brightens visibly, and the corner of Dean’s mouth quirks. Dean likes seeing Castiel happy. It’s infectious more often than not.

“You up for a walk? There’s a few short trails in the national park which are nice this time of year.”

Dean thinks for a moment, he didn’t exactly come prepared for a walk, his jacket isn’t suitable for being outdoors for long periods of time, not in the January bitterness.

“It’s cold,” Dean counters, he stacks their mugs to one side and brushes the crumbs off the table with his hand and onto a plate.

“It’s _fresh_. I have a hat and scarf you can borrow. Once we get walking you’ll be fine!”

Dean grumbles for a moment but actually getting outdoors for actual exercise and actual fresh air sounds nice.

“Let’s go then,”

Dean drove, insisting it was a good idea, though the truck wasn’t as flush to drive as Baby was.

“I wish I could take you out in her,” Dean says wistfully as he takes the winding roads with Castiel’s directions. He can see snow covering the tips of the mountains and he shivers with the thought of being outside in the cold. Castiel had said he had a hat and scarf for him but he was sure he’d be okay, that he’d manage without. However, reaching the parking lot from where they’d planned to walk from and stepping outside, Dean realises that he’s going to have to suck it up and wear the hat.

When he turns around, Cas is there with a long black and yellow knitted scarf and a matching hat. “You’re serious?” Dean questions, brow raised as he eyes the hat and scarf warily. They’re not his style or his colour for that matter.

“I made them myself, both the hat and scarf, they’re bee colours.”

Dean resists a laugh. “Bee?”

“I had a certain interest in college and some free time. So, I knitted a black and—Dean just wear the hat. You’re not getting sick because you refuse to wrap up warm.” Castiel reaches up and sticks the hat on his head, pulling it down over his ears and giving him a fond smile. Dean’s insides turn unexpectedly, that was—that smile was something else and Dean suddenly hopes that the cold air reddening his cheeks is hiding his blush. Castiel wraps the scarf around Dean’s neck and tucks it inside his jacket. “There, all wrapped up.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean nods and looks around him. The mountains stretch around them and the views even from the parking lot are astonishing. He follows Cas as the man starts wandering off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The walk they take is amazing, Castiel is very knowledgeable about the area, pointing out wildlife and telling Dean about the history. He’s surprised they didn’t do this before.

Dean’s busy focusing on Cas talking that he misses the branch scattered on the pathway and trips over it inelegantly and hits the frozen ground.

“Dean!” 

Dean moves himself slowly, making an internal catalogue for any injuries. His hands are scraped and his knee feels like it’s going to bruise but he reckons the rest of him is fine. He can suddenly feel Castiel’s hands on him, gentle as he checks him over.

“Well that was graceful.” Dean huffs and kneels up, hiding a hiss as he straightens his knee. Castiel’s hand reaches out to help him up. “Thanks,”

When Dean’s stood up, his knee begins to hurt more but he manages to take a few steps without limping. He’ll be fine, it’s just a bruise.

He watches Cas pull the felled branch to one side so no one else would trip over it—he’s considerate like that, Dean smiles—before turning to Dean to make sure he’s okay.

“I’m fine, just a bit bruised. C’mon, let’s finish the trail before I freeze my nuts off.” Castiel chuckles a little and then adjusts the hat on Dean’s head. “Leave the hat alone,”

“It was skewed,”

“I ain’t surprised with my test of gravity—which still works by the way,”

Dean’s rewarded with one of Castiel’s grins and he finds himself smiling too.

The rest of the walk is uneventful. Dean doesn’t mention that his knee is beginning to hurt more and that his previously broken leg is seizing up a little the further they walk. He only tips Castiel off when he asks him to drive back.

“Your knee hurting that much? I’ll take a look when we get home.”

“It’s fine. I don’t want to intrude.”

“Dean—”

“Alright, fine.” Dean concedes before Castiel can lecture him about his health like he had a habit of doing before.

They drive home in the quiet. Castiel switches on a radio station that has the top hits on, all of which Dean tunes out to watch the scenery go by. He didn’t see any of this on the way here. He’d been so focused on driving and following Castiel’s directions that he hadn’t even thought to look.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Castiel muses and Dean hums. He picks at the broken skin on his palms until they sting. He’s suddenly feeling not quite right, like there’s something he’s missing or forgotten. He checks his pocket and he still had his wallet and phone so it’s nothing like that. Dean realises that the thing he’s missing then is Castiel. _He’s right there_ flits through his mind but that doesn’t seem to abate the thought. Five long months without Castiel has had more of an effect on him that he imagined. The roughened and damaged skin on his hands is more appealing, so he picks at it again, despite it hurting.

A hand comes to rest over his, breaking his reverie and making his heart flutter at the tender touch. “Dean, stop. I’ll put some antiseptic on it when we get back to mine.”

“Sorry,” Dean mumbles and tightens his hands into fists to try and keep himself from doing any more damage.

“We’re nearly there.” Castiel states. Dean looks up around him again to find them back in the middle of town. They go past the coffee shop and then Castiel pulls Dean’s truck into the driveway behind Castiel’s monstrous gold Lincoln. Dean shouldn’t judge, Castiel likes it and actually looking at it, it reminds him that the Impala is still grounded in his garage where he can’t even look at her.

Having been sat in the car for half an hour, Dean’s knee is stiffer than before and he hobbles after Castiel to the front door. Castiel’s house is thankfully warm inside so he sheds his coat and hands back Castiel’s scarf and hat.

“Go sit in the lounge. I’ll grab coffee and my first aid kit.”

Dean wanders into Castiel bright and airy lounge, neutral walls lined with bookcases and a barely used TV and entertainment stand in the corner. Dean’s been here before but he’s seeing from a different perspective now that he’s actively trying to do up his own place.  It’s nice, an example of what he wants his own space to look like.

Castiel comes back in with two steaming mugs and a first aid box tucked precariously under his arm. He sits down on the coffee table and motions for Dean to sit opposite him.

“It’s not that bad.” Dean explains, giving his palms a once over.

“Not the point. They’re gritty and you’ve picked at them, so I’ll at least put some cream on them so they don’t get any worse.” Castiel explains. Dean places his hand into Castiel’s outstretched one and watches with rapt intent as he cleans the area. It stings, Dean probably having made it worse but he battles through it without a sound, handing Castiel his other hand when he asks for it.

Once both hands have cream on and the throbbing sting has dissipated some, Castiel makes to roll up his pants leg. The scar from his broken leg is still obvious and Dean feels as Castiel runs his finger over it lightly. It sets Dean’s hairs on end and a light shiver runs through his body. A nasty looking bruise is already purpling  on his knee and Castiel pokes it gently to see if there’s any more damage.

“Just a bruise.”

“I can feel that! Don’t poke it, asshole.” Dean gripes, shaking his head and pushing his jeans back down.

“The scar looks good though, I’m no doctor but it seems to have healed up well.” Dean just nods at Castiel’s observation.

“Yeah, I suppose,”

“You’re not happy with it?”

Dean shrugs. He’d never been bothered about scars before. He’s got one on his arms from his days as a mechanic and another from impacting his head against the kitchen cupboard when he was a kid. Dean chalks it up to the circumstances, but rationally, he has someone in front of him that he cares about, even if it’s been rocky this past few months. He has someone that he cares to make himself look good.

The realisation sets Dean on edge, this isn’t something he can have. Not now. Not for a long while until he sorts himself out and sets himself on the right path home.  He pulls away from Castiel’s lingering touch, no matter how much he wants it to remain.

“It’s fine,” Dean grabs his coffee from the table, the heat of it not enough to cause any pain and it’s just a bit hotter than drinkable when Dean takes a sip.

Dean doesn’t want to see it but Castiel looks disappointed when Dean pulls away. If it were possible, Dean would ask him to touch him, but he can’t. He won’t. He won’t put that pressure on himself or on Cas. Friends will have to do.

“Great coffee,” Dean comments blandly, trying to inject some life back into the silence. It doesn’t work as Castiel only nods and takes a drink of his own. He packs away the first aid supplies and disappears out of the room. He’s gone longer than Dean thought he’d be but eventually he’s back.

“Have you got time for a movie? You can always stay if it gets too late to make the trip back,”

Dean checks his watch. He hasn’t really got time, not unless he stays the night. That seems like a bad idea. Then again—life is full of bad ideas. He’ll make this one of them.

“Sure.”

Castiel is quiet for the rest of the evening and it’s unsettling. It’s strange to have asked him to stay the evening and then not talk to him. Something isn’t right.

Castiel has curled himself up on one end of the sofa while Dean’s sprawled over the other. It’s like he’s pointedly making sure he’s nowhere near Dean and it’s infuriating. Even before they were closer than this. Maybe that’s the problem.

Dean stands up halfway through the movie to grab a glass of water from the kitchen and Dean can feel Castiel’s eyes on him as he moves through the house, switching on the lights and then turning them all off again when he comes back through.

This time Dean plays a dangerous game and sits close to Castiel, testing the waters between them. He knows full well this is a bad idea, one he shouldn’t even be entertaining at this stage of the game. He has several reasons why this isn’t a good plan, he’s not stable, just two months ago he dived back into drinking alcohol, and the way they broke apart just six months ago, this was too much.

He can tell Castiel is fighting to keep his focus on the movie so Dean settles for the rest of it.

“Are you okay, Cas?” Dean asks as the credits began to scroll. It hadn’t escaped Dean how tense Castiel was becoming.

Castiel shrugs truthfully. “What’s going on, Dean?” He asks. Dean frowns at the question, sitting up and turning to face Castiel.

“I don’t—”

“Why did you leave? You said you were happy with me, did you mean that?”

Dean nods. He _was_ happy. More than he deserves to be.

“Then why?”

“I told you.”

“You said it got too much. That’s what I’m here for, Dean. You should have said something.”

The silence is long and drawn as Dean tries to figure out what to say to Castiel.

“I wanted to.” Dean says. Castiel turns to him with disappointment on his face and that hurts more than anything. He let Castiel down.

“I told you I wasn’t letting go, Dean. I meant that, I meant it so much. Anything—absolutely anything, tell me and we can work through it.” One of Castiel’s hands is resting on his thigh and the other comes up and cups Dean’s face. Gentle hands, years of experience in helping people shining through brightly.

Instinct tells Dean to move away, to separate himself from Castiel getting too close, fulfilling his secret fantasies that they can be something and everything will be fine. But he can’t move. Castiel’s eyes are captivating, drawing him in. He’s drawn in so much that Castiel’s lips on his don’t even register for the first moment.

“Cas,” Dean relishes in the moment, letting Castiel’s lips consume him, his hands wander to Cas’ thighs, gently squeezing the muscles. _This_ is everything he wants, all of this encased in a bubble of hope for them. Then it pops, violently, and Dean tears himself away from the kiss, looking anywhere that isn’t at Cas’ lips. This was a mistake, this was what he was avoiding all along. He’d told himself this could never happen between them because there were too many reasons it shouldn’t. Too many reasons it couldn’t, and logic outweighed his desire. “I can’t,”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel looks ashamed when Dean dares to glance back up and then Castiel stands up and leaves. “You should sleep. Are you leaving early in the morning?”

“Yeah. Night, Cas,” Dean’s left gasping just above the surface of his emotions.

He breathes heavily before trying to arrange the couch cushions into a makeshift pillow and pulling the throw off the back of the couch to cover him. He can’t sleep though; the couch is comfortable and he’s warm but sleep just won’t come. Every time he closes his eyes he can feel Castiel’s soft lips on his, he can feel the emotion behind it dragging him down. He wants it, of course he does, but he barely managed to pull himself out of his last alcoholic binge.

He needs a plan.

 

 

Castiel doesn’t regret his actions, but for the first few days after Dean left, he felt guilty. It was only when Dean started texting him on a regular basis that he came to terms with the fact that it hadn’t shattered their already fragile relationship. Dean had been quiet the morning after, Castiel tentative and stepping on eggshells because he didn’t really know how Dean had taken the kiss.

After a few days Dean had sent him a picture of his bedroom, freshly painted a warm dusty red, then a picture of Sam’s room and then Dean’s old bedroom which now housed a desk. The kitchen came a month later with the bathroom. Dean’s texts had shown he was very proud of his handmade box storage and Castiel had made sure to let him know it was brilliant.

A rare day off has Castiel on the couch, blanket thrown over his feet—the very same one Dean slept under just two months ago—and a book with a worn spine in his hands. He has a lot of chores to get done but he neglects them all in favour of his favourite book and his much appreciated downtime, coffee nestled in one hand, steaming away.

His phone buzzes and it distracts him from his book, he’s tempted to just ignore it but he knows that no one texts him except for Dean and he’s suddenly intrigued as to what Dean’s achieved today. With how much Dean has been getting done in the past two months, he reckons Dean must be nearly finished.

He picks his phone up, Dean’s name in his text notifications, and smiles. He bookmarks his page and takes a sip of his coffee.

> **Dean** | **7:36pm** | Just gotta paint the living room and it’s done! I’ll send pics tomorrow.

He could feel Dean’s pride through his text and it gives him a warm feeling. He remembers Dean bloody-faced and panicked from the crash and then drawn and ill from his recovery and this, this is something new he hopes to never lose. The months of not talking after their argument had left Castiel with a hole inside him. A very Dean-shaped hole. That was exactly what Charlie had warned him about.

> **Castiel** | **19:38** **|** What colour are you going for?
> 
> **Dean | 19:41 |** Not telling. You’ll have to wait for tomorrow ;)

Castiel laughs out loud, shaking his head. He pulls his foot up on the couch and taps out a reply.

> **Castiel | 19:43 |** Black? Like my soul :’)
> 
> **Dean | 19:43|** Black is the last colour I’d need if it was for your soul

Castiel blushes. That’s… oddly endearing. He’s suddenly glad that he’s not talking to Dean because he’s not sure how to respond to that. In the end he pings him a smiley face and puts his phone down. He’ll just wait until tomorrow for more updates.

  ****

The next day at work is more taxing than he was hoping. After a day at home with his book, a nasty five car pile-up leaving more people dead than alive rocks him to his core and leaves him feeling emotional. He sits with the youngest surviving victim, a three-month-old who’s now orphaned. He holds the little boy’s hand as he sleeps and recovers. For the most part, the baby is okay, just a few surface injuries and Castiel knows he’s torturing himself by being here.

Benny already went home and tried to take him home too, but Castiel had refused.

“Cas,” Charlie comes up behind him, startling him out of his exhausted doze. He turns to her, hand still trapped in the baby’s tight grip. “Go home. Stop doing this to yourself.”

“He’s so young,”

“I know. We’ll find him a good place to go, I promise.” Charlie reassures and even though he knows they can’t guarantee that, he believes her. Arms wrap around him, tight and comforting, and he hugs his friend back.

“Thank you.”

She lets him go after a while and takes him out of the paediatric ward and back down the hallways to the exit. “How’s Dean?” She asks, nudging his shoulder with her own.

“Good, I hope. He’s nearly done with his renovations, he’s very proud of himself.” Castiel manages a small smile, welcoming the distraction. He tells her all about the updates he’s been receiving from Dean and manages to accurately describe nearly every room in Dean’s house without ever having been there. It quickly takes his mind off the day’s events, though the little boy doesn’t leave his mind for a moment.

They reach the exit and Charlie has to go back to work, but she hands him a chocolate bar, his favourite kind and hugs him again.

“Drive safe, Cas,”

“Of course, have a good rest of the shift. I’ll see you around.”

Castiel unwraps the chocolate bar as he walks to his car, he knows Charlie will keep him as up to date as she can but he knows he won’t know everything. Castiel checks his phone when he gets in his car, dumping his bulky jacket on the passenger seat. He has a few texts from Dean and it makes him smile as he reads them.

> **Dean | 1:52pm |** Done
> 
> **Dean | 2:23pm |** Renovating is exhausting, I just fell asleep on the couch
> 
> **Dean | 3:17pm |** Hope you’re having a good day
> 
> **Dean | 5:16pm |** You’re probably busy saving people
> 
> **Dean | 5:19pm |** Are you ready for the grand tour?

 Castiel waits for an onslaught of pictures bit instead receives a video file. He clicks it and opens it up, pressing play and watching as Dean tries to get his phone camera up the right way. He chuckles a little.

It’s ten minutes long and has Dean showing off his skills and hard work in each room. There’s a short pause as Dean walks to what Castiel remembers to be the living room and the camera shuffles and turns to Dean’s face. He looks weary which Castiel puts down to working so hard on the house while managing a day job at the same time. He also looks beautiful but he tries to push that thought away, Dean _had_ , quite rightly, rejected his advances.

“ _And Cas. I got something to tell you..._ ” Dean pauses as the camera moves to a different part of the house. “ _I’m gonna fix her up!_ ” He announces with a wobbly grin, like he’s trying to feign confidence. Castiel had seen that face on Dean several times during the first few months of his recovery. It had been hard to see, it was so easy to see through him.

Castiel knows it’s not going to be easy, Dean can’t even go in the garage from what he’d told him before. The video has a minute left to go but he doesn’t watch it. Instead he pulls up Dean’s number and calls him.

It rings several times before Dean picks up and he doesn’t even give Dean a chance to say hello before expressing his concern.

“You’re gonna fix up your car?” He says.

“Hey, Cas. It’s nice to hear from you. I’m glad you liked the house.” Dean replies dryly.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel tries and he hears Dean chuckle on the other end. “Your house does look amazing.”

“You should come see it sometime.” Dean suggests.

Castiel’s quiet for a moment. After their last in the flesh encounter with each other, Castiel can’t help but think he can’t see Dean. He wants to, more than anything but he just... he just won’t be able to look at Dean without wanting to be with the man every second of his life. Dean Winchester is an amazing man and he... yeah. Castiel sighs.

“That would be great.” He answers, caving far too easily for his liking and trying to sound cheerful for Dean’s sake. He’s glad the man can’t see his face.

“Awesome!”

“So, you’re really going to fix the Impala?” Castiel changes the subject swiftly, getting to what he called Dean about in the first place.

“I’m gonna try.”

“Have you...”

“No.”

“You okay?” Castiel hears a long breath on the other side and Castiel frowns. “Dean, don’t do this if you’re not ready.”

“I _should_ be ready. This shouldn’t be so hard. It’s been... it’s... like a year.”

“Eleven months, yes. And you don’t _have_ to be ready,”

“I know.” He says quietly, barely a whisper over the phone. “The house kept me busy and even though I only just finished, I’m antsy to start something else. So why not try...” He hears Dean break up a little. He clears his throat before continuing. “Why not try fixing that shattered hunk of metal in the garage.”

“If she heard you talking about her like _that_ , I think she’d be upset.” Castiel tries to lighten the mood and from Dean’s huff of a laugh, he knows he succeeded somewhat.

“True.”

“Do you want someone there, in case—”

“In case I have another freak out?” Castiel shrugs but he knows Dean can’t see him so replies with a non-committal sound. “I asked Sam. He’s coming up soon before some exams he’s got. Said he could revise while he was here.” Castiel tries not to let the sting of Dean not asking him get to him. After all, Sam’s his little brother, of course the position was going to go him first.

“That’s great, Dean. That’s... you’re going to be amazing. I hope you achieve what you need to.”

“Thanks, Cas. Hey, when she’s all fixed up and I’m okay, you can come up and we’ll take her out for a spin.”

Castiel has a tear in his eye envisioning him and Dean in what he knows was the sleekest, black beauty of a car. “I’d love that,”

There’s silence between them for more than a long while. Neither of them know what to say. Castiel doesn’t want to put his foot in it and say something he’ll regret and he guesses Dean just doesn’t want to say much. It happens.

“I used to make Sam sit on the oil barrels in Bobby’s scrapyard when we were younger. I wouldn’t let him touch the car. I think... I think now’s a good time to let him. I dunno if he even wants to and if not, he can sit and revise while I work. I’d be happy with that. It’d be like old times—before everything.”

“Having Sam there for you, whatever you do, will help. I’m glad you’re not doing this alone.”

“Me too, Cas. I’d never had gotten anywhere without you and Sammy.” He admits. It makes Castiel’s inside feel warm and fuzzy and he grins.

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

 

 

Dean picks up his brother in his dilapidated truck and even after too long of not seeing each other the drive is quiet. The music is set low and the rattling of age and disrepair echo down the highway back into Lawrence. It’s nice to see his brother again after so long. He feels a little guilty having shooed him off the moment he started to mother hen and insisting he could manage without Sam hovering over him. Even if at that point he already had Castiel hovering.

Dean’s sure Sam nods off but he perks up as soon as they hit their home street.

“I swear that trip was longer.” Sam comments with a yawn, stretching out as much as he can in the small truck cab.

“Yeah, well, you never used to sleep, Princess.” Dean laughs, shoving his brother lightly as he pulls up on the front. Dean watches as Sam looks at the house. From the outside it doesn’t look like anything has changed. Dean done the odd repair to broken railings but he’s eager to show Sam the inside.

Sam gets out the car first and despite his eagerness, Dean waits a moment. Sam has a key and unlocks the door, glancing back at Dean who’s still sat hesitantly in the driver’s seat.

With a bit of courage, Dean hops out the truck and follows Sam into his house.

Dean takes him for a tour round the house and Sam pulls him into a hug at the end of it.

“Hey, woah. What was that for?”

“This, everything, Dean. Dude, this is amazing.”

“Didn’t think you had such a low opinion of me with a paint brush,” Dean teases, elbowing his brother in the side and making him jump.  “You want a drink?”

Sam stills and Dean sees his face turn. Because obviously, Sam instinctively assumes he meant alcohol. God, he hopes Sam doesn’t walk on eggshells when he’s around for the next two weeks. That’ll be the last thing he needs if he’s going to get into that garage.

“Of water, juice, coffee, hell I got some of that fruity tea as well. You can blame Cas for that, damn that man is insistent.” Sam visibly relaxes and Dean turns a questioning brow to his brother. “The fruit tea practically tastes like pie.”

“What flavours do you have?”

Dean lists them off, Cas had been far too enabling when it came to fruit and herb tea and in the end Sam chose a green tea which shouldn’t have surprised Dean in the slightest.

“You’re still at that green stuff?”

“You’re still eating burgers?” Sam counters easily.

“Touché,”

“Since when do you say—”

“Cas... Cas says it and it stuck.”

“He’s a good influence. Finally.”

“Do you want this tea in a mug or in your lap? I can make you sleep in the backyard.”

Sam huffs and Dean hands him the mug with the bag still hanging out the side.

“So,” Sam takes a tiny sip of his drink and the words make Dean focus on his brother. He knows that tone. That tone is the _I’m about to say something and I don’t know how you’re gonna take it_ tone. “You and Castiel okay?”

That was not the question he was expecting. “What?”

“You and Cas? You both alright now or what? Last I heard from him was that you’d had a disagreement and you weren’t talking to him.”

“Um. Yeah, we’re fine. Saw him a few months ago and explained everything. We went for a walk in the national park. It was all rainbows, Sam.”

“Rainbows?” Sam asks incredulously.

“Yeah, Sam. Rainbows.” Dean threw up his arms and stood up off the couch.

Dean turned away from his brother, facing towards the kitchen. It was not how he expected his first evening with his brother back to go.

“Dean?”

Slowly, Dean turns around, arms folded across his chest and feeling exhausted.

“Are you okay?”

“Ain’t that the million-dollar question,” Dean retorts. “I’m doing fine.”

After a strained silence, Dean drains his tea and then pulls out the take-out menus from the drawer.

“Fancy take out?”

“You got that Pizza Shuttle menu?”

“I do.” Dean rifles through the small pile and pulls it out. He stops before Sam gets hold of it. “On one condition,” Sam raises his brow. “No mushrooms or olives or anchovies or peppers or vegetables. Or pineapple.”

“So, you want to get the meat lovers?”

“Basically.” Dean grins. Sam rolls his eyes and grabs the handset, dialling through to the pizza house.

They stuff their faces with pizza, watch the first two Die Hard movies and then Sam announces he’s off to sleep, the long day travelling exhausting him.

Dean doesn’t want to go to sleep just yet. Instead he turns on the third Die Hard but doesn’t actually watch it. Dean stands, stretching his legs and collecting the mugs and heading into the kitchen. He rinses the mugs out, a nice habit he’d got into recently and stacks them on the side to be washed in the morning.

Opening one of the kitchen drawers the key to the garage haunts him. Part of him says just to get it over with, unlock the garage before he can think about it too much and lock himself in until he can’t feel anything and he can escape from the memories of the crash and just get the Impala fixed up and back on the road.

Without a second thought, Dean grabs the key, not even bothering to shut the drawer and heads to the inside garage door.

He unlocks it with shaking hands and refuses to think why they’re shaking. He forces his body to move as the door swings open and he doesn’t even breathe as the door clicks shut behind him.

The garage is dark. Eerie and looming. He can hear his breath ragged in the quiet. He can do this.

His fingers tremble for the light switch and it flicks on.

Shit.

Dean sucks in a wheezing breath.

The damage to the impala is devastating, but the onslaught of visions has him stumbling back into the door he came in. He knocks a set of spanners to the floor and they clang loudly. Dean hasn’t been this filled with fear since the day of the crash.

He locked himself in and now he can’t even get his hands to move to get him out. He’s just got a loop of bloody hands, bloody faces, windshield cracking, head slamming onto the steering wheel.

“Dean?”

Castiel calling his name. Blue eyes. Gentle hands. Promises.

Dean screams.

He tries to hold on. Blue eyes. He can’t see. There’s blood in his eyes and he can’t see. He’s cold and hot all over.

“Dean!”

Gentle hands. Gentle hands. God, his chest is so tight.

Cas. Where’s Castiel gone. He was here. Right here.

“Dean!” Dean’s knocked to the floor with a force behind him and he covers his head from whatever came in through the door.

There’s hands then. These are real. Warm, big, picking him up from the ground and holding him tight against a warm body.

“Dean? C’mon, say something, man.”

Sam. Sam’s here.

“Sammy?”

“It’s me, you’re okay.” Sam’s voice whispers in his ear.

Dean feels his legs moving but he doesn’t know where he’s going.

Deposited on what Dean realises is his couch, he looks over at Sam who’s staring at him with the saddest eyes he can muster.

“I’m just gonna grab the first aid kit, don’t move.”

Dean doesn’t even want to move. He just blinks at Sam as he leaves the room leaving him in quiet.

Quiet. It hadn’t been quiet a minute ago.

He looks around, his hands are clean, his face is clean after he swipes a hand over his face.

There’s red on his shirt though.

“Dean, don’t panic. It’s okay. You fell on the floor when I pushed the door open on you. You cut your arm up.”

Sam settles in next to him, pulling out the antiseptic cream and a gauze to clean it up.  It won’t need bandaging; a Band-Aid will do at most. It probably looks worse than it is.

“What happened?”

“You had a panic attack or something.”

“Oh.” Dean stays quiet after that and watches Sam clean up his arm with glazed disinterest.

“That ever happen before?”

“Once or twice. Never that bad. That was... I...”

“You don’t have to think about it. What happened before that was different?”

“The door. It was shut behind me but not before. Before I could get out.” Dean explains.

Sam checks his watch and pulls his phone out. Dean can hear it ringing through but doesn’t pay too much attention. Until he hears Castiel’s voice.

He perks up, frowning at Sam in question.

“Yeah, hold on,” Sam says after saying a few words Dean didn’t listen to. The cell phone is thrust into his hand and still in his strange post-panic haze he just stares at it, looking at Castiel’s name on the screen.

“Well talk to him, then,” Sam presses.

Dean puts the phone to his ear.

“ _Dean?_ ”

“Hey, Cas” he replies instinctively.

“ _How are you feeling?_ ” Castiel sounds tired but sincere. It’s past midnight where he is and even later for Dean. Dean tries to work out how he’s feeling. He can still remember feeling terrified, but it’s not so close anymore, the panic has subsided to just a concern.

“Better, I think.” He admits.

Sam pats him on the thigh and announces that he’s going to leave him in Castiel’s hands. “Yell if you need anything.” Dean doesn’t miss Sam locking the garage door and taking the key away with him.

“What happened?”

“Thought it’d be a good idea to shut myself in the garage and just battle through whatever happened. Didn’t turn out so good.”

“Overwhelming yourself like that isn’t the way to go about it.”

“Found that out the hard way. Can we talk about something else?”

“As long as you don’t do that again. Take it easy, small steps.”

“Baby steps. Got it.” Dean repeats sharply, wanting the conversation over with. “Hey, you been on any cool jobs recently?”

“I hardly think my job qualifies as cool, Dean.” Dean can practically _hear_ the eye roll.

“Nah, I meant like where you went up the 14er. Stuff like that.”

“Hmm... it’s all been pretty standard. That 14er job was particularly out of the ordinary.”

They chat for a while, Dean pulls the throw Sam left at his side over him and buries himself underneath it. He yawns, suddenly overcome with tiredness.

“Go to sleep, Dean. You need it. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Sure. See ya, Cas.”

“Goodnight.” The line clicks off and Dean sets the phone on his coffee table.

He’s too comfortable and warm to move so he just pulls his legs up on the couch and falls into an easy sleep right there on the couch.

The next morning, Dean’s woken by the sound of pans clanging in his kitchen. He stands stiffly, realising it was probably a bad idea to sleep on the couch in the long run. Stumbling towards the smell of coffee, Dean find his brother rifling through the cupboards.

“Mornin’,”

“Where the hell did you put my favourite mug?” Sam questions.

“Top shelf in the cupboard with the rest of the mugs. You’re damn tall enough to see it, bitch. Ain’t no reason to wake me up.”

“Jerk. You sleep on the couch all night?” Sam asks, pulling his favourite mug from the top shelf with ease.

Dean nods. “Me and Cas talked late.”

“I heard,”

“You were listening?” Dean wonders, feeling reticent about his private conversation with Castiel.

“I didn’t listen. I could just hear that you were talking until about two thirty.” Dean relaxes. It’s not as though they shared anything particularly private, it’s just that it was their conversation. It had been nice. Effectively taking his mind of the evening’s disasters.

“’Kay,”

Sam pours coffee for the both of them and they spend the day hanging out. Dean finishes off a few chores while Sam studies.

****

Saturday afternoon, three days later, there’s a knock on the door.

“Sammy, you expecting anyone?” Dean hollers up the stairs to where Sam’s making himself scarce while Dean bakes a pie in the kitchen. He hasn’t let himself indulge in a pie for more than a while and it’s about damn time.

“Don’t call me that, Dean! I’m twenty-three, not twelve.” Sam shouts back. Dean moves to open the front door, flour dusted over his apron and hands a little sticky with pie dough.

The man on the other side was the last person Dean had expected to see.

“Cas!”

“Hello, Dean.” He replies with a smile. His hair is as messy as usual, if not more from what was probably a long drive over.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you working?” Castiel looks a little disgruntled from the lack of welcome, so Dean quickly corrects himself. It’s amazing that Cas is here, just unexpected. “I mean, you’re here! Holy shit.” Dean scrambles to pull his messy apron off and wipes his hands clean on it. Castiel smirks at him.

“May I come in?”

“Of course,” Dean lets Castiel past him and watches as Castiel sheds his trenchcoat and hangs it on the hooks Dean recently installed.

“After what happened, I took emergency leave as soon as I could and came up here. I flew in and got a rental.”

“You flew?” Dean asks dumbly, he forgets some people actually like flying. People like Castiel who do it in their day job.

“I did.” Castiel gives him a grin and they move to the lounge.

“You want coffee? Tea?”

“Tea would be great, have you got the forest fruits?”

“Of course. I have _all_ the tea.” Castiel chuckles and follows him into the kitchen.

“Your house looks even better in person.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Sam doesn’t bother them for the first few hours, thankfully as they sit and talk on the couch, Dean revealing more to Cas in person than he’d ever done in texts or to Sam.

“I couldn’t move. I kept hearing things like the windshield smashing and I could hear you. You were right there and you couldn’t help me because you weren’t real,” Dean recalls, voice quiet. “And then Sam came through the door, knocked me on my ass accidentally and brought me out here and called you.” Dean ponders that, he’s surprised that Sam even called Castiel in the first place.

“I asked Sam to call me if anything happened. That’s what a sponsor is for and while we’re probably past that point, that’s what I’m still here for if you need me,” he says sheepishly.

“Oh.” _Past that point_ by which he means they kissed and Dean fucked it up by rejecting him. Dean bows his head.

“Which was all my fault, I may add. Don’t put that on yourself.”

Dean nods. “Yeah...”

It’s getting late and Castiel hasn’t made a move to leave to get back home. “How long did you take off work?”

“Three days. I’m not expecting anything, it was just in case.”

“You can stay here if you’d like. I have a guest bedroom now,” Dean announces proudly.

“That would be great, thank you.”

“You wanna watch a movie? I’m binging at the moment. Harry Potter or Indiana Jones?” Castiel seems to consider the question carefully, eyes skittering over the two DVDs.

“Indiana Jones.”

“Excellent choice!” Dean says with excitement, sliding the disc into the DVD slot.

It’s awkward for a while, watching a movie in the dark with someone who’s just past the point of friend and dipping their toes into more, but eventually Dean slips into mouthing the words to the movie he’d seen far too many times.

“Why did it have to be snakes?,” Dean says out loud in time, mimicking the whip crack.

“You haven’t seen this much, have you?” Castiel asks light-heartedly.

“It was the only DVD we had for a while, I watched it on repeat.” Dean explains.

The movie plays on and Dean carries on mouthing the words and making Castiel smile. This feels good.

Having Sam here, that’s the best. But having Castiel here too, it’s almost picture perfect in Dean’s eyes. Forever he’d dreamt of a white picket fence, two point four kids and a dog, the whole nine. Sitting here with Castiel and his college boy brother upstairs revising made it more than clear that he didn’t need that. It was just a fantasy, one that is slowly evolving into something quite different. Something more like quiet evenings, watching movies and hey, he knows Castiel can’t bake for shit so maybe he can teach Cas to make pie.

Dean glances over to Castiel, he’s engaged in the film, face glowing from the TV and highlighting his features. Dean can’t even begin to deny that he’s handsome.

Just a year ago, Dean was a wreck with a bleak future and now, Dean’s much less of a wreck with more of a future. Dean smiles to himself, a future with Castiel? He’s already expressed the interest and it’s only Dean holding them back. It’s not the first time he’s thought about this. He’s thought about it plenty but kept it off the table. Now though, he’s well on his way to staying sober. Would it really be so bad to take a chance? He’s finding it easier to communicate and talk to people—Castiel mostly—about what’s going on. He’s just got one major goal to accomplish.

Fix the Impala.

Two major goals to accomplish.

Fix the Impala and ask Castiel out to dinner.

Castiel wakes to the raised voices of the brothers downstairs. He pulls on a hoodie from his overnight bag and pads downstairs.

“Just let me go in there, give me the key.”

“Dean, please,”

Castiel watches Dean’s stormy face grow angrier at his brother and he steps in to stop the potential fight.

“Give him they key, Sam.” Castiel says carefully, announcing his presence. Both Sam and Dean turn to look at him.

“Cas! He’s not going back in there. Not after last time. You should have seen it.”

“I’ve seen it,” Castiel reminds him. He’d seen it several times during the first month and Dean turns sheepish.

“Right, then you _know_ why I’m not giving him the key.”

“I’m right here, guys. Sam give me the key, if you’re that concerned come in there with me—hell, Cas can come too. See no danger. Keep the door open if anything goes wrong we can leave. Easy.”

“Give him the key,” Castiel repeats.

“No,” Sam holds the key tighter in his fist. Sam must know that this is the best time for Dean to face his fears, surrounded by people, and that withholding the only way in.

“Cas is gonna be there the whole time.” Dean tells Sam and looks over at him. Castiel nods his head lightly, of course he’ll be there for Dean.  “I _need_ to do this, Sam. I’ll never drive her again otherwise. She’ll always be locked away in the garage if I can’t go in there.” Castiel can feel Dean’s frustration from where he’s standing.

He’s desperate for a coffee to start him up for the day and he can see the coffee machine is half filled with coffee and what looks to be a cup just for him on the side. He starts towards it, eyeing Sam on the way and holding his hand out for the key. Sam gives it over almost too easily.

“Thank you, Sam.” Sam leaves the room.

“You’re not gonna hold the key hostage too are you?” Dean asks, he rubs his hands together impatiently and Castiel chuckles.

“It’s your house, but I need coffee before _anything_. So, coffee, then garage.” Castiel explains, sitting down at the breakfast bar and pouring himself a generous cupful.

Dean is the most impatient man in the universe, he taps and stares, then blinks and looks away when Castiel catches him. His foot still beats against the laminate flooring.

When Dean starts to tap out a rhythm to whatever music he has playing in his head, Castiel’s had enough and he rolls his eyes while taking a sip. Dean smirks, he’s well aware of what he’s doing. It’s nice that he’s perked up a bit after his disagreement with Sam. He hadn’t meant to make Sam leave.

Dean deserves the chance and patience to get this sorted. After Castiel’s parents died, he’d found it hard to be in a room alone without panicking before Missouri helped him. Dean needs this to move on. The last piece of this gigantic puzzle.

“Are you patient enough to let me change into something more garage suitable before we do this?”

There’s a mischievous grin on Dean’s face, Castiel can’t quite tell if it’s just masking his nervousness or if it’s genuine. It’s a wonderful look on him either way.

“I wouldn’t mind if you stayed in your pyjamas.” Dean says, scratching the back of his head with nervousness. Castiel can’t help but chuckle. It wasn’t exactly the response he was expecting but he appreciates it nonetheless.

In response,, Castiel just shakes his head with a grin, standing up from the table and going to change.

“So, no pyjamas then?”

“No, Dean. No pyjamas.”

“Fine, go and put clothes on,” Dean relents, with fake dejectedness.

Pulling on some comfortable jeans and a t-shirt he got from a concert he attended with Benny, Castiel tries to work out what Dean is up to. His attitude towards Castiel has been different since Castiel arrived—good different, of course—and it’s all sorts of confusing. It feels as if Dean is teasing him, light hearted and sweet but he knows from before that furthering their relationship isn’t on the table.

Pocketing the key, Castiel knows that whatever is happening, he’ll let Dean go at his own pace, he won’t dream of pushing him. As far as today goes, getting Dean into the garage without a panic attack is going to be exhausting. He’s not qualified for this, but he’ll do his best. He can help Dean through this. He knows how important it is to Dean and that’s all that matters.

Trudging back down the stairs, he finds Dean leaning against the counter in the kitchen.

“Do you usually listen to music when you’re in the garage?”

Dean nods.

“Yeah, Led Zeppelin usually.” He expected Dean to have been eager, but now he just looks apprehensive. Castiel decides to be a little brazen and rests his hand on Dean’s arm and stands toe to toe with him. Dean’s back is pressed against the wall and Castiel makes sure to keep a gentle grip on his arm.

“It’s going to be okay, Dean.” Dean averts his eyes to anywhere but Castiel. “Dean, look at me.” It takes a few moments but Dean does. “You got this.” He smiles and Dean nods a little.

Dean does something unexpected then, and wraps his arms around Castiel. The embrace is nice, sharing their calm before they dive head first into fixing up the impala. It’s short lived and Dean pulls away facing the door to the garage with a stern expression that Castiel knows for a fact is to hide his real  emotions.

“It’s probably a ridiculous thing so say, but don’t think about it too much. When you look at your car, just think what and how to fix and not why it needs fixing.” Castiel brings his hand up to Dean’s face, he’s prepared for Dean to move away as he’s invading his personal space, but Dean doesn’t and lets Castiel tap the side of his head. “get your mechanic brain in gear. It’s just another car in the shop.”

Castiel realises he’s probably greatly offended Dean by calling the Impala _just another car_ but he needs to try and get Dean’s mind focused in the right place. He doubts it will work - not the first time anyway - but they can try.

The door to the garage unlocks and Castiel steps in. The room is colder than the rest and it’s pitch black save for the gentle light coming from the door he just opened. He can see a flash of reflection and his eyes adjust to the darkness. The Impala really is a wreck. It’s worse than he remembers.

“Come on.” Castiel takes Dean’s hand and encourages him into the room. Dean goes easily and willingly, flicking on the light for them both. Then Dean’s hand tightens in his—it’s a strangely nice feeling but he knows Dean’s just scared.

Dean stands away from the wreck and just looks. Castiel’s concerned he’s thinking too much but when he takes a look at Dean his face is calculating and determined. The corner of Castiel’s mouth quirks in a little smile—that worked better than planned.

It’s ten minutes before Dean moves, letting Castiel’s hand drop from his own as if he was never holding it, he stacks a few bits up from the workbench lining the side and pulls out a notepad.

Castiel doesn’t know what to do as Dean works silently writing and drawing bits and pieces, ripping off pages and pinning them to the cork board or scribbling something out violently and tossing it in the trash.

He watches his pencil run across the page and then stop. He stops for a long time and Castiel thinks he should say something, but he holds his tongue and waits for Dean.

“I—” Dean clears his throat and Castiel takes a step towards him. “I have a plan but I think I’m done for the day.”

“Okay.” Castiel tells him simply and moves to leave the room. He doesn’t wait to see if Dean follows but hears him hold the door open and then lock it shut after himself. Castiel takes a deep breath. He feels exhausted just being there for Dean, he can’t imagine how Dean feels. Castiel goes straight to the kitchen and pours them both a glass of water. Dean takes his gratefully with a nod of thanks and chugs the whole thing in a few gulps.

“I have to leave tomorrow,”

“I know,”

“I’d stay if I could.”

“I know that, too. Thanks, I think we can do this,” Dean’s smile is a nice surprise, it’s warm and gentle.

“ _You_ can do this.” Castiel prods a finger into Dean’s chest. “And any free time I have, if you want, I can come and visit. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two about restoration.”

“I’d like that. You ever worked on cars before?”

“I’ve had a crash course on fixing the chopper for work in case I ever need to.” Castiel explains.

Dean’s face turns mischievous, a glint in his eye and the corner of his mouth turned up. “Least you know your way with a wrench, think I can teach you a thing or two.”

It takes a while for Castiel to realise that Dean’s hands are on his hips, barely brushing against his t-shirt. They’re gentle, unsure and timid against him. Castiel scans Dean’s face for any sign that he doesn’t want to further this and when he doesn’t find anything, Castiel mirrors Dean’s position and lets his hands rest on Dean’s hips, just above his jeans. He loops his little fingers into the belt loops and ever so gently encourages Dean to shuffle closer.

Castiel is barely breathing as one of Dean’s  legs comes in between his own and he’s pressed up against the fridge freezer. Dean presses their foreheads together, and it’s warm between them. Somewhere right at the back of Castiel’s mind, he’s wondering what Sam will think if he walks in but he just hopes that he remains upstairs studying for the time being.

“You could sleep in my bed tonight, the mattress is more comfy,” Dean suggests quietly between them. Castiel casts his eyes up to Dean’s and pulls his head back. It’s not what he was expecting, not by a long shot and he’s not sure if it’s even a good idea at this stage in whatever is happening. Dean must realise the weight of his words and he back tracks a little. “I didn’t mean sex—unless you want to—I just meant sleep, with me, in my bed.”

“Okay.” He can’t deny that request. He doesn’t even want to.

A finger under his chin tilts his head towards Dean’s and then Dean’s lips are on his, light but this kiss means everything. Castiel’s eyes close and he feels every single second tick by slow and he’s thankful for it. Dean’s amazing at kissing, he’s so enveloped by the feeling that when he opens his eyes again, Dean is smiling brightly.

“Was it really that good?”

Castiel flushes, knowing he must be showing outwardly signs of arousal and he feels a bit silly. It was just a kiss. Though, it’s been a long time since anyone has been this close to him. He nods his head and chuckles.

“We’ve still got most of the day to kill. Anywhere you fancy going while you’re in Lawrence?”

“Natural History Museum? That caught my eye on the way here.”

“Sure. Let’s pack up some stuff, we’ll leave Sam here studying.”

They spend the day together, even buying cheesy souvenirs. Dean buys a toy dinosaur that he definitely does not need and Castiel goes for a snow globe with the t-rex skeleton inside.

They laugh with each other the whole way back to Dean’s house, Dean complaining about Castiel’s  high-tech rental car, but is quietly impressed when it parks itself on the driveway. 

By the time they go back inside the house, Sam is in the kitchen, drinking a huge mug of coffee. Castiel notices that his expression is intrigued when they join him, leaning against the counters.

Sam pours them both small cups as there’s not much left in the percolator. “Did you two have a good day?” He asks them. Castiel can hear amusement in his voice and he wonders if he _knows_.

“Dean bought a dinosaur.” Castiel blurts, and then turns to Dean with a grin.

“Castiel bought a _snow globe_.” Dean chimes back and Sam laughs.

“You only buy snow globes in New York, at the top of the Empire State Building.” Sam says and Dean nods along. Castiel narrows his eyes at the brothers.

“Sam used to be obsessed.”

“I was not—”

“And then that was what Dad told him. It’s been a bit of a running joke since.”

“I just liked them, Dean. I was not obsessed.”

Dean cooks dinner for the three of them and he smiles the whole time. This is everything. His brother and his... and Castiel both here. Sam and Castiel are having an in-depth conversation about something and it’s nice to see them getting along; briefly Dean wonders if they text each other often. It’s obvious enough that they’ve spoken before as Castiel was the person Sam called after his panic attack, and Sam wouldn’t call up someone he barely knew to come and help.

Balancing three bowls of chilli in his hands, Dean sets them on the table.

“Chilli with a side of rice and garnished with garlic bread,” Dean says in his best posh voice making both Castiel and Sam laugh.

Dean eats quickly and Sam and Castiel aren’t far behind, the meal is delicious if Dean says so himself. He smiles proudly. He could live in this moment forever. Small parts of him wish the other parts of his life were this perfect and simple. After getting out of the hospital and then back on his feet without crutches or too much pain, he assumed he’d dive right back into fixing the Impala. Instead he’d been thrown the biggest curveball since realising the damage he’d caused to himself after the crash.

He knows it’s not going to be a click on a button that everything is fixed. The world doesn’t work like that. Castiel, on the other hand, is as good of a button as he’s going to get. He won’t take advantage of his friendship, of their feelings for each other but he can sure let himself have Cas. Castiel has made things easier, he’s showed him how he can live without alcohol as a crutch.

When Sam disappears back to his room to study in peace, Dean turns to Castiel as he places their plates next to the sink. Castiel looks up at him, he’s perceptive enough that he knows Dean is going to say something and Dean appreciates him all the more for it.

“Thank you,” Dean says. It’s not a thank you for stacking the dishes, or joining them for dinner or even for coming here. It’s more than that. As Dean opens his mouth again to clarify the weight of his words, Castiel steps closer to him and presses a kiss to his lips.

“I know,” Castiel says gently.

Visions of heated kissing and sex run through his mind—he’s seen far too many chick flicks for anything else to happen. Instead, Dean returns the kiss, dropping the tea towel and cupping Castiel’s face in his hands. He can feel the light stubble beneath his calloused fingers and the tickle of Castiel’s longer hair over the backs of his hands. Castiel’s lips are soft and cushiony and Dean lets out a chuckle when his brain supplies him with an image of Castiel with marshmallows for lips.

They break apart, Castiel giving him a quizzical look. “What’s amusing you?”

“You have soft lips,” Dean explains. “And my brain supplied marshmallow as an example.”

Castiel chuckles, then rests his forehead on Dean’s chest. He looks up when he’s calm again and taps the side of Dean’s head. “Well, Dean’s brain, thanks for that helpful supplement.”

“It’s still early, but we could watch Netflix in bed or something if you want.” Dean suggests. He runs a bowl of hot water and starts to wash up the plates from dinner.

“I like that idea.”

Once Dean’s finished, Castiel follows him up the stairs and they both change with the awkwardness of high school teens. They turn away from each other and swap out their jeans for pyjamas. When Dean turns back round Castiel is wearing a white undershirt and faintly striped blue pants. He looks tired and it has been a long and exhausting day even though it only feels like they got up a few hours ago.

They crawl into Dean’s bed and sit apart, stiff as bricks. It shouldn’t be so awkward, they’re not sixteen-year-olds going at it for the first time, they’re adults. Dean grabs his tablet and sets it up. He scrolls around for a suitable film before they sleep and settles on Star Wars - one he’s seen countless times.

It’s warm having someone else under the covers with and they drift closer because the screen is small and they both need to see it. By the time they’re halfway through the movie, their finger are laced together and Castiel is barely awake.

“Hey,” Dean nudges Castiel carefully. Castiel looks at him bleary eyed. “I’ll turn this off and we can sleep,”

Castiel nods and moves his head off Dean’s shoulder so he can put the tablet back on his night stand. They shuffle down and Castiel curls around Dean’s body, one hand on Dean’s chest and the other tucked between them, it’s slightly awkward as neither of them have slept with someone else like this in so long. They’re just not used to it. Castiel’s hand moves down Dean’s chest and his thumb runs along the scar running from his sternum to his belly button. It’s faded some, but he’s still very conscious of it and squirms under the touch. Castiel murmurs something into his neck, he only half hears it and he’s not sure if he’s quite ready to listen to that word just yet. _Beautiful_. He’s anything but.

Castiel repeats the motion; this time it feels less weird but Castiel seems to sense his apprehensiveness and takes Dean’s hand instead and soothes his thumb along Dean’s knuckles. It feels nice and already he can feel himself relaxing.

Putting aside everything Castiel has done for him, Dean realises that without a single doubt, he is very much in love with Castiel Novak. He’s kind and friendly and handsome and wonderful and Dean couldn’t ask for a better person to be in his life.

Castiel pulls him closer with the pleasant thoughts and he feels happy, content and all the bad thoughts that normally cloud his mind have been suppressed for now and he’ll take anything to make them stop. If Castiel is the answer then he’ll hold onto him for as long as he can.

“Don’t let go, Dean.” Castiel whispers.

“Never.”

 

****

Time moves slow when there’s an end goal that seems like a mountain they’ve yet to scale. The Impala is so close to being finished. Between working at the garage and keeping in touch with Sam and his new fiancée, Jess, Dean’s been fixing and tinkering and building up a savings jar for some of the bigger parts. The main body is all back in one piece, all the joints have been welded and the dents knocked out. He had to replace most of the front end as it had all been destroyed when he hit the tree. He was lucky enough to be able to salvage her engine.

Dean pats the floor for his wrench and smiles when it’s handed to him.

“Thanks, Cas,” He calls, voice muffled by the Impala’s undercarriage.

“Do you want coffee?”

“What?” Dean slides himself out from underneath the car and Castiel gives him a fond smiles

“I said, do you want coffee?” He repeats.

“Tea, please. Don’t mind which flavour. Something spicy?”

“Okay,” Castiel grabs Dean’s hand just as he’s about to leave. “Hey,” Castiel presses a kiss to Dean’s cheek. Dean flushes, all this time together and Dean still blushes when Castiel kisses him. No one can see them here, tucked away in Dean’s garage.

“I thought you were making tea?” Dean whispers as he captures Castiel’s lips and then migrates down his jaw and nips lightly at Castiel’s neck.

“Well, I got a bit distracted,” Castiel hums. Dean takes both of Castiel’s hands in his own and presses kisses to his knuckles.

“Go and make tea, I’ll finish up here and wash up.” Castiel plants one last kiss on Dean’s nose and disappears from the garage. Dean’s left feeling like his dad just spun him round on a roundabout and he grins. He expected this feeling to fade after a few months of really being together but it never did. Perhaps the way they’re working it out over the distance makes it more special.

Any time that Cas has off, he flies up or Dean drives down and they Skype if they can’t do that. It’s not ideal but it seems to be working. Every time he offers to help pay the flight fares but every time Castiel always declines.  Dean always sighs and makes sure to make it up to Castiel later on.

Dean jumps in the shower, scrubbing his face and washing his hair. The water turns grey with the oil and grease he’s managed to get all over himself but soon enough it’s running clear. Castiel’s shampoo has migrated into his shower and his hair smells like strawberries but it’s nice and leaves a fuzzy feeling in his stomach.

He pulls on a henley and a fresh pair of jeans before heading back down stairs. He can smell the sweet cherry and clove of his tea as soon as he gets to the kitchen door. Castiel is sat at the small round table, coffee cupped in his hand and breathing in the caffeinated aroma.

Dean joins him quietly, letting Castiel enjoy his moment with his coffee. Then he spots a box on the table. Neat and small and official looking. His stomach drops.

“Um, Cas?” Dean says nervously, finger tracing the rim of his cup. “You’re not planning to propose to me, are you?”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to marry Castiel, just—not yet. They’ve been together just under a year and before that had been a mess of feelings that neither of them had acted on. The two years since they met in unfortunate circumstances just haven’t been long enough to consider a proposal.

“No.” Castiel chuckles and sets his mug on the table. “Staring at it won’t open it, Dean.” He nods his head for Dean to pick it up.

Dean sets his cup to one side and takes the box. Dean can’t think what’s inside, it has to be special enough to warrant a box and it’s definitely not a ring. Castiel has given him many gifts in their time together, and nothing has ever come in a box before, or wrapped in cheesy paper. That’s Dean’s thing, he likes the surprise, he enjoys watching Castiel’s face as he tears open the paper or peeks inside the package. For him, that’s half the fun, even if it is just a trinket from a museum or an _I thought of you_ gift.

With trembling hands, Dean opens the box. Inside is a coin bit it doesn’t look like any of the American currency that he’s used to. This one has an intricate pattern etched professionally into the surface. Dean frowns a little with curiosity and picks it out of the box. Upon closer inspection he can see that it’s for him and only for him.

“It’s a little late as it’s closer to eighteen months.” Castiel explains, his voice is a little shaky, nervous about Dean’s reaction.

“It’s—”

“You were never part of a program, so you’d never have got one officially. So I had one made for you. One year—or eighteen months—of sobriety. You deserve it.”

Dean reaches out for Castiel’s hand, eyes still transfixed on the coin in front of him, it’s coppery colour shining under the kitchen lights. He feels Castiel’s warm hand wrap around his own and he holds onto it tightly.

 _‘Don’t let go’,_ is engraved around the edge, echoing the words that seem to have reverberated through their entire relationship from day one, along with a prominent roman numeral one. On the flip side is an engraving of the Impala, intricately accurate.

The sound of a chair scraping along the kitchen floor arouses him from his reverie and then he feels Castiel’s arms wrap around him from behind. He clutches the coin in his hand and then holds onto Castiel.

“Thank you,” Dean sniffs and realises that there are tears on his cheeks. He doesn’t even know why he’s crying. He’s done the hard work of staying sober, he’s managed to make friends at his job over the past year even if they’d been wary of him at first, he’s managed to keep in touch with his brother on a fairly regular basis and he’s happy with Castiel in his life as his boyfriend and rock and friend. But this coin, it’s an outside person’s view that he’s come this far. Eighteen months.

From drinking daily, passed out on the couch, throwing up in his dingy bathroom and barely even knowing what day it was let alone getting to work and back - to someone who’s happy to go day-by-day without a drink. Some days he doesn’t even think about it, others he has to consciously remind himself not to and that’s okay too, Castiel has reminded him of that a few times especially when he has bad days. They come and go and lately he’s found peace with more good days than bad days and he knows without a doubt that eight months is nothing compared to the rest of his life.

The thought scares Dean, the road ahead is not going to be smooth, there’s lumps and bumps all over the place, sharp corners and hairpin bends, no doubt. The thought of hurtling back to square one keeps him up at night. All this hard work - and it _is_ hard - will have been for nothing.

He shouldn’t think like that, Castiel will berate him for it and tell him to think positively, even if it’s just in small steps.

Make it one day at a time... and then the next. Easy as pie.

Dean takes a deep breath, wipes his eyes, pockets the coin and stands up.  Turning to Castiel, he smiles and pulls Castiel into a proper hug, squeezing him tight.

“I love you, Dean.” The words are barely whispered. Dean repeats the words back for Castiel and they stand there in an embrace for a long time.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” He replies, voice stronger than he was expecting. Castiel looks at him with his adoring blue eyes.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sounds a little ominous,” He replies with a smirk. A spark of panic hits him that maybe _this_ is Castiel proposing to him but he realises that Castiel wouldn’t do that to him. Whenever that time came, he knows Castiel will be the one waiting for him to propose. If Dean has cheesy ideas in mind already, that’s another ballgame, but right now he’s interested in what Castiel wants to say.

Castiel pokes him in the ribs a little and huffs a laugh.

“Whenever you finish the car, will you move in with me?”

Dean thought he was all done with emotions today, but Castiel has knocked him out of the park again. Every time he goes to Castiel’s small apartment in Denver, he can see them both there together. Dean’s house here in Kansas, while the one he grew up in and refurbished himself, it’s not for him anymore. Besides, if Sam’s going to be residing in California for the foreseeable future, then Denver is closer than Kansas. _Marginally_.

Selling his house will break his heart but if in return he gets to wake up with Castiel every morning, then that’s fine by him. He might even be able to find a better paid job there too.

“I’d love to,” he agrees and then they’re kissing again. The incentive to finish the Impala now is as strong as ever. Maybe her first real drive will be piled with his belongings and with Castiel in the front seat beside him.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> To see the amazing art master post on Tumblr - [go here!](http://blueeyedangel.co.vu/post/175681209517/im-so-honoured-to-have-been-able-to-work-with-the) :D 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who helped me and to everyone who reads this! ♥♥♥


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